Fighting Chances
by Lyta Halifax
Summary: Five years ago, Chloe watched helplessly as her best friend took a bullet meant for her. In all that time, she has struggled to comprehend that sacrifice. Now an alcoholic living in Las Vegas, Chloe wonders what life might be like if she could go back and change the past. A mysterious figure from her past will give her a chance to find out.
1. Chapter 1

Chloe Price was going to die.

It wasn't how she envisioned the morning ending. Not when it had started off with such a simple plan: she needed cash, several thousand bucks to be exact. Money she had spent trying to get her truck roadworthy again. Money she borrowed from the wrong person, at the wrong time.

And Nathan had more than enough of his own.

She should have known better than to put herself in debt to Frank; things had never been the same between them after he stood up to Damon three years earlier, throwing himself into harm's way so that she and Rachel could escape.

He nearly died protecting them both.

Which is why it struck her as perverse, the way Frank derived pleasure in holding the debt against her; she'd spent years owing him money more often than not, but this was different. And it wasn't just the amount of money involved either.

 _I mean shit, it's_ mostly _about that but…_

Nathan had the cash, and Chloe had the means to blackmail him. She'd figured he'd collapse like wet cardboard - like he always did, when push came to shove - and then her troubles would be over. Part of her felt seriously slimy, leaning on the asshole like that, but it was either his skin or hers.

She knew which team she was rooting for.

Looking back on it now, she should have realized that Nathan was a powder keg long past the point of detonation. She knew he was little more than just a creepy, spoiled, twisted rich kid whose Daddy opened every door and provided every opportunity Nathan enjoyed at Blackwell, but in the back of her mind she failed to fully acknowledge how much of a victim he was in his own right. Not until it was too late.

In one terrible, crystallizing moment, she could see it all so clearly.

She'd seen enough, heard enough over the years; the way his father treated him. Beaten him, with words and fists, and God only knows which of the two did the most damage in the end.

She thought back to the day she overheard the two of them talking in the hospital - when she happened to be walking the halls after Rachel was stabbed - and how the doctor in the room pleaded for the younger Prescott to get the treatment he so obviously needed for his mental illness. How his father cruelly refused to be anything more than a vile megalomaniac who didn't care a damn for his son, past how the younger Prescott reflected on his "good family name". Not to mention the night Nathan was playing Caliban in The Tempest, when Victoria tried to drug Rachel and take her place on stage, and fate conspired to put Chloe in the role of Ariel, if only for a single act. She was too busy swooning over Rachel going off script to give much thought to the abject humiliation he endured that night.

 _Oh. Rachel…_

"You're gonna get in hella more trouble for this than drugs!" Chloe spat out lamely, closing her eyes in fear despite the attempts to conjure up her best bravado.

 _Rachel, I'm so sorry! I hope you're safe, I hope you're in a better place than this fucking shithole fishing town! I'm sorry I'll never get a chance to see you again…_

Adrenalin burned through her veins like white-hot fire. Primal instinct took over. The will to live completely short-circuited any rational thought in her brain; the sort of strategic thought process that would caution her against trying to push the gun out of his hand, that such an action was much more likely to end with her bleeding out on the bathroom tile than living to see another day.

"No!"

Chloe opened her eyes at the sound of another voice; female, but not her own. Time slowed to a crawl, and she vaguely wondered how this new girl had made her way into the bathroom without being noticed.

And why...why did she look so familiar?

The other girl - with short, sandy brown hair, wearing a pink t-shirt - reached out, as she tried to wrench the pistol away from Nathan. The struggle was short; by the time Chloe gathered her wits to help, the fight was over, its ending punctuated by a short, deafening roar. One which reverberated off the tile floors and walls.

Chloe looked at Nathan.

Nathan looked back at her.

His shaking hands and designer clothes were spattered with fresh blood.

The gun rose up. He took aim at her. For one long, terrible moment, Chloe thought she saw the conflict in his eyes. The terrible ethical calculus, the question of whether or not it would make a damn bit of difference at this point: that shooting two girls was equally as bad as shooting one, so maybe Chloe's death would be little more than a moral 'freebie'.

But the gun slowly fell to his side. He spoke, voice cracking, eyes welling up with glistening tears, "I….I didn't…..I didn't mean…" He looked back down at the other girl, now lying helplessly on the floor, as hot crimson pooled underneath her.

He shambled towards the door, languidly at first, until he suddenly burst out into the hall. His voice took on an increasingly panicked tone, as he tried to convince anyone within earshot…

"I didn't mean it...I didn't! I…"

Nathan's desperate pleas, the eventual screaming that soon followed from the hallway, the pounding of feet running away from him, and the feet that were running towards him: it all became a singular din in the background, one that Chloe could barely perceive. She slumped to her knees and then crawled towards the girl whose blood sacrifice could barely wash away her sins. The innocent wretch who'd bought Chloe's life with her own.

"Oh God...oh, Jesus fucking...h...hey! Help! Somebody help! Please! He shot someone!"

"Chloe…" the other girl rasped out.

Chloe snapped her head down, intently studying the form sprawled out before her. Like a buckle clicking into place, she finally realized why the brown-haired student was so familiar.

"M-Max? Max Caulfield?!"

Dimly, Chloe had known the other girl was back in Arcadia Bay since at least August. Hell, she still occasionally stalked her on Facebook and Twitter, so it was hardly a surprise. Once or twice, she had even considered reaching out to her. But five years worth of hurt feelings and righteous indignation ultimately upended any thoughts of reconciliation at the time. Up until this moment, she was still smarting from the way Max told her goodbye in a tape recording, on the day Chloe's father was buried. And smarting from the way Max ghosted her, finding excuses not to contact her, even as Chloe desperately reached out for support in that first year.

None of that mattered anymore. In this moment, all was immediately forgiven.

"Chloe…I'm so sorry." Max said, reaching up to cup her face. The blunette could feel the warmth ebbing from her old friend's fingertips, a deathly pallor whitening the other girl's cheeks as she gave Chloe a sad, pained smile.

"Don't….don't talk. Just lie still okay?! Lie still and...hey help! Help! HELP!"

Chloe screamed, her voice rising to a shrill pitch as she attempted to clamber to her feet, only to find a hand gripping her wrist with surprising strength.

"Too late…" Max hissed out, before spitting out a mouthful of blood. "S'okay though. 'm happy...you survived." She tried to laugh, obviously thinking better of it as her face contorted into a mask of pain. "All that lost time. Five years. It's my fault. But...you're alive. You're still alive. All that matters." Her breathing was becoming increasingly labored, eyes losing their focus.

"It's okay, it's okay! I promise...don't….now's not the time to talk about it." Chloe insisted, gripping Max's hand, trying to speak as soothingly as possible. "You're gonna pull through this, okay? You're gonna survive! And then you can spend the rest of your life apologizing to me." She gave a strangled, abortive laugh, and then shook her head. Her voice was wet and rough with agony as she said, "No...no, if you make it, you never have to say a single fucking sorry ever again! So please hang on, Max. I'm gonna get help, but you have to hang on!"

"Live."

Chloe nodded with frenetic, disjointed energy, as she tried again to move towards the door.

"You're gonna live. I promise!"

"No." Max sighed softly, as her hand dropped to the ground. "Live, Chloe. Just...live." She curled her lips into a small, hopeful smile, glassy eyes staring out into the distance as she took one last phlegmy gasp of air, letting it all out in one pointed, pleading sob.

She died so peacefully that almost ten seconds passed before Chloe realized Max was gone.

Chloe didn't remember reaching out to close her friends eyes, nor could she recall rising to her feet. All she could feel in that moment was a small but fiercely blossoming fury. Like a chip in a windshield, the tiny crack that inexorably spidered out to mar the otherwise smooth surface.

"Why? WHY?!" she roared in grief and frustration.

Why didn't anyone come and save her friend?

Why was she still all alone, here in the bathroom? Couldn't they hear her scream for help?

 _And why...why not me? Why didn't you take me, God?!_

The only answer she received was a second gunshot ripping through the air, somewhere beyond the bathroom door.

* * *

 **FIVE YEARS LATER**

"Can't believe you still haven't asked her out on a date, Chlo. Christ, what's it gonna take to crack that frosty heart of yours, sheila?"

Chloe paused for a moment, carefully pulling the needle gun away from the skin. She didn't want to deal with this while simultaneously trying to focus on freshening up the ink on Dirk's Tank Girl bicep tattoo. She prided herself on her fastidiousness and professional attention to detail, and God knows she didn't land the job at Steel Rails - one of the premier body modification shops in Las Vegas - by acquiring a reputation for fucking around and making casual mistakes.

She sighed hard through her nostrils, ran a hand through her hair - short, spikey black and blue feathers, with the back and sides buzzed - before tilting her head, and said, "Jesus. You ask me that...like...all the fucking time. With every halfway attractive woman who walks in here. And I get that you're all totes-adorbs into lesbian love, but man…it's getting old." She punctuated her point with a soft stab against his arm with her fingertip, enough to make it uncomfortable without hurting too much. It wasn't something she'd do to most customers, but Dirk had been one of her regulars for the better part of two years; she knew she could get away with it.

The muscled, blonde Australian biker yowled and gave her a melodramatic show, complete with puppy dog eyes. Chloe shot him her best "Not Buying That Today" look, then moved to return to her work. She blinked in surprise when he gently grabbed her wrist to stop her.

"Yeah, okay, right, fair dinkum. But Capella is honestly into you, mate. No foolin'. I know because she's tending bar at Glaze, most of the same nights I'm there bouncin'.. Always asking me about you, and your schedule. You know that tramp stamp she just had you do? Could have gotten it a month or two back, but she kept holding out for an opening where she could have you do it."

Chloe gave a nonchalant shrug. "Not the first time I've heard a story like that. Maybe it's news to you, but I kinda got a reputation for weaponized awesomeness." At this, she gave a rare smile. "Even Brie Larson waited three months for me, and she's gonna be super-hot shit in a few months when that new movie of hers comes out." With that, she continued applying ink to skin.

Dirk rolled his eyes and blew a few errant bangs away from his face as he a faux-petulant tone, "She was showing you the goods, babe. I mean hell, she wanted that tattoo, but it was a total advert for her brand, too. All for you, and you alone. Cor, she's got it bad, hand to God."

"Neat." Chloe murmured flatly, eyes squinting in focused concentration. "Still doesn't mean I gotta play The Game though. She wants to try and jump on the Priceline Dating Experience, she can straight up ask. And then I can shoot her down, quickly, efficiently, but with a tenderness that some would dare call maternal."

Chloe pulled back in time, correctly anticipating Dirk's reaction as he jerked up to a fully sitting position in response. "Seriously?! Ye fucking kiddin' me? You would say 'no' if she offered drinks, dinner and a private lap dance for dessert?"

She closed her eyes and sighed.

 _Gotta admit, she's a drink of water in the fucking desert. Been a long time since I had a taste..._

And yeah, maybe she did take a few long, lingering peeks at the other woman's backside. Capella was a dancer, in a city filled to the fucking walls with them. Chloe saw a lot of ass in her career, but even she had to admit this one stood out.

 _Easily top ten material_.

She bit her bottom lip for a moment and wondered. Maybe…

... _maybe this is the day you try? Maybe this is the day you stick a finger out in the wind and…_

No.

Definitely not.

Especially not today. This week, this month.

She knew better than that, knew better than to let herself think that allowing people to get close to her wasn't doomed to failure of the worst sort.

Pushing Dirk back in his seat so she could finish her work, she muttered grimly, "Yeah. I'd say no. Life's about more than just getting laid, or...or settling down, or whatever the hell you think you want me to have. 'Happily ever after' is nothing more than a marketing slogan the Man pushes to sell you shit you don't actually need." She turned away, forcing herself to carefully put the gun back in its holding bracket. "Got too much going on in my life anyhow to deal with relationship shit." she lied. "But ah…" She bowed her head for a moment, and mouthed out. "Thanks."

Whipping her head back up, she added, "You know the drill, wound care, keep it clean, call me if your fucking arm falls off, blah blah blah."

Dirk gave a distracted nod as he tilted his arm up to get a better look at the finished product. "Well, hello gorgeous! Looking ship-shape and Bristol fashion, are we?" he asked the drawing of the spikey-haired comic book icon. He then reached into his wallet, extracted a few bills and handed them over. "I'll go settle up with Tanya for the damages...here's your tip."

Chloe casually snagged the money, and nearly proceeded to tuck it into the breast pocket of her flannel shirt until she realized how much she'd been paid.

"Jesus-fuck, Dirk! I mean…" she swallowed for a moment. "...I mean thanks, but that tip was probably twice as much as the whole fucking job!"

He jumped up to his feet and smirked, playfully ruffling her hair. "Had a lovely bit of luck at the El Cortez last weekend. Me Mum always told me to never spend winnings on anything practical. 'Sides, you look like you could use a fun night out." At this he looked at her with concern, giving her bicep a familiar, familial squeeze. "Really."

"Yeah. Well. Thanks. Bye." she said, turning away as he headed off to the front desk.

 _Ah God...Dirk. You fucking magnificent bastard._

She'd been saving up for her annual alcohol-soaked bacchanal of personal misery, and God knows the Benjamins nestled in her pocket would help with that. I didn't seem right though.

 _Ought to put it aside, save it for something good. Make a nice story to tell Dirk about, 'cause he's clearly gonna ask the next time he sees me. And you know, maybe I could...maybe I could call Capella up and ask…_

There was that familiar knot in her chest - hard, wooden, obdurate. That wall she could never get herself to push past, climb over, or walk around. An eternal reminder of the inescapable truth Chloe was forced to embrace a long time ago.

 _No. Fuck no. She can do better. Hell, I'm doing her a big damn favor, making sure she doesn't get dragged down. Still, probably oughta tell her she needs to give it up and find someone who'll appreciate the effort._

With her final client of the morning taken care of, she tidied up her work area and then aimlessly drifted towards the tiny compartment that served as the office of the owner, Roy Bjornsson. Steel Rails was originally a place called Black Spade, before he bought the old owners out and renamed it, but the layout was still the same: a converted caboose and box car, both of which had been permanently moved to the back end of Container Park in the downtown Arts District.

Knocking on the half open door, she stuck her head in and and saluted the older gentleman inside.

"Hallo, jarl minn." Chloe said, a playful smirk drawn across her lips. She knew it was the sort of thing that irritated Roy's egalitarian Icelandic sensibilities, but she was also aware of the tremendous privilege she possessed in being one of the only people in the world from whom he would take that sort of crap.

"Hmph. If it isn't the daughter of Loki himself. Time for my daily reminder, why hiring you was such a miserable mistake?" Chloe always appreciated the way Roy could give as good as he took. Truth be told, she thought the world of him. Putting aside the fact that he was an awesome boss, he was probably one of the finest tattoo artists in the country, if not the world, and yet he contented himself with owning only a couple small studios in one city. She was already an up-and-comer when she managed to weedle him into giving her a shot, but the things she learned about her craft once he took her under his wing?

 _I'll never be able to pay him back._

She tried not to dwell on how much he meant to her; especially not on this day.

"Nah, even worse than that. Just wanted to tell you Dirk's done, so I'm off for the rest of the day. And then I'm taking next week off, remember? Put in for it like a year ago."

He narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, an antique of rough steel and polished oak that groaned under his large viking-like frame. He steepled his hands together and nodded. "Ya. Just like the year before. Third time in a row now, always October. Never seems like it's for anything good though…"

Chloe frowned, giving a dismissive shrug of her shoulders.

"I won't ask…" he added.

"Cool, 'cause this isn't gonna be the year I start talking. I mean, it's not like you're…" she bit her tongue back, before she could finish. "Shit, look at it this way, Roy: what other employee is polite enough to schedule her massive benders in advance? She rolled her eyes and added, "Really, you should be thanking me; it's not like I spend my ETO on anything else."

"Ya, but that's just you taking advantage of a foolish old man's generous policy for cashing out unused vacation time at the end of the year." he snorted.

"Yup. I'm a baaaaaad bitch." She threw up demon horns with one hand, and waggled out her tongue, but her heart wasn't really in it. Turning away, she said, "Anyhow, see ya next Monday, I guess."

Roy paused overlong, and she was nearly out into the hallway before he said, "Just make sure you're ready to catch up on all the work that'll pile up while you're gone."

"Always do." she replied.

 _Not like I got anything else going on._

* * *

Chloe stepped out into the bright sunshine and pleasantly dry, 80 degree air of Las Vegas in the early autumn. She took a deep, cleansing breath, then paused to take in the tranquility of Container Park.

 _Mmmm. Another day in paradise._

Technically speaking, Paradise was a few miles south, an unincorporated township in Clark County where the airport and the Vegas Strip could be found. Downtown Las Vegas proper, and the Fremont Arts District that dominated it, were still the true, authentic heart and soul of the city. As the name implied, Container Park was a miniature village composed of a large number of repurposed and refinished shipping containers arranged in an enclosed square the size of a city block. But it was so much more than the mere sum of its parts; a curious melange of art, consumerism, and family entertainment, dominated by pop-up galleries, bars, restaurants, unique shops, and even its own tiny little wedding chapel tucked away on the top floor. The wide, open courtyard hosted a multi-story play structure that Chloe would have sold her two front teeth for when she was a kid, and the small stage near Steel Rails hosted any number of concerts, plays, and small shows.

The Arts District was one of the first places that Chloe visited when she first moved to Las Vegas, and the moment she spotted the fifty-foot, fire-breathing steel animatronic praying mantis guarding the entrance, she knew she was in love; being hired by the tattoo parlor in the rear suddenly became a burning goal, in a life that was largely bereft of any, beyond "Keep pushing air past your teeth" and "Try not to choke on your own vomit when you get blackout drunk."

The Park was bright, clean, well maintained - honestly, it was almost too perfect; if it weren't for the character and utter lack of chain stores, Chloe would probably despise the place.

Trotting up to the second level, she immediately plopped down at one of the stools of her favorite chill spot, Doctor Dunsel's. Not only did they have one of the best views of the park - ideal for people watching - but some amazing hot dogs, coupled with top shelf booze, including concoctions that she wasn't sure would be legal to serve in many places outside of the state of Nevada. Chloe would have been embarrassed if forced to admit how much of her paycheck was usually spent there.

Regardless, it was the perfect spot to start her week's retreat from humanity.

She uselessly fiddled with her menu while waiting for her order to be taken, and closed her eyes, as she allowed herself a rare moment to look straight into the cold, dark lump stuck in the middle of her chest; the great mass of mental scar tissue that never managed to heal right after the continuous chain of events that still haunted her to this day.

Arcadia Bay. October. 2013.

If it had only ended with Max's tragic murder, that would have been bad enough.

But it didn't. Not by a long short.

And here she was, barely five years later. She wondered when it would start getting easier, dealing with the pain. She came to Vegas hoping to leave all of it behind, that time and distance would allow the healing to begin.

She was still waiting.

Chloe wondered if Vegas was far enough, if there was any distance she could put between herself and her place of birth that would make any of what happened easier to live with.

She groaned silently as the ebon shell of her emotional trauma tightened around her, blocking out the warm breezes and and soft music that drifted nearby. A panoply of memories and impressions built slowly but surely to an increasingly intolerable din in her mind.

" _My little girl! My angel! My baby!"_

" _Y-you were an innocent little girl, and I'm s-s-so sorry…"_

" _David? Am I a good person?"_

"God, I could really use a drink!" Chloe hissed angrily to herself.

The sound of a throat being loudly cleared jerked Chloe out from the edge of the abyss. She looked up and gave a weak smile to the bearded, heavy-set African-American male in his late fifties. He was clad in a loud Hawaiian shirt and blue velvet fez. He drummed his fingers against the bar for a few seconds, then removed a large, chunky vape pen from his breast pocket. Taking a long drag, he slowly exhaled, as hash and coconut oil scented vapor pooled around his head like a halo.

Jim - just Jim, Chloe never bothered to learn his last name - was the host and proprietor of Doctor Dunsel's. A transplant from the Northeastern US, he spoke with a clear, vibrant baritone tinged with a New England accent, "Welcome, Madame Artiste. What can I get for the Lady of Pain today?"

"Hola, Kahuna. Uh...I'll have the triple Bhagczech dog, with a little of the ghost pepper sauce, and a large order of the waffle fries. Oh, uh...make that a double. The hot dog I mean, holy shit not the fries. Two dogs. And a large Rocket Fuel, grape flavor."

Jim leaned in, resting heavily against the bar with his forearm. He fixed a steely gaze on her for a few seconds, then pointed over his shoulder. "My Lady, you may be unaware of this, but Doctor Dunsel's is an establishment of class and repute. Now what does the clock on the wall read right this second?"

Chloe shifted in her seat, uncertain as to what the problem was. She glanced over in the direction indicated.

 **11:59:47 AM**

She blinked, gave a clipped, hard sigh and slumped with disbelief. "Wow, Jim. Fucking really?"

"Fucking really." he repeated, before punctuating his next statement by waving the vaporizer as if it were a conductor's baton. "If there's only one rule I hold to here, it's this: no ETOH is to be served before the noonday hour." A few seconds later, he looked back over his shoulder, nodded once in self-satisfaction, and then said, "So. You want it in your usual mug?"

"God, yes!"

"While you wait, madame."

With that, Jim handed her his pen, from which she took a few long, greedy pulls as she waited for her order, grateful for the opportunity to quickly sand down the worst edges of the existential anxiety pressing in around her. A moment's false peace ensured, and she spun around to take in the view behind her: children laughing and chasing each other around the playground, couples holding hands, throngs of women showing off what they'd just purchased, people eating lunch…

...life being lived.

 _Ah fuck. Max….Rachel. You would have loved this place. You would have loved this shitty, awesome, horrible, insane, crazy city. Why the hell aren't you here? Why aren't either of you here?_

Chloe knew the answer.

It was because of her. All of it.

A throat was cleared again, and in one single motion Chloe spun slowly around and handed back Jim's vape. "Thanks." she whispered.

He laid down a large tray filled with food, along with an oversized black ceramic mug with the words "QUEEN OF FUCKING EVERYTHING" stenciled on the side in pink filigree script; it was a perk of an exclusive private club that she and a few other privileged patrons paid a yearly fee to be part of. And for that nominal fee, they got heavily discounted drink refills, served in personalized mugs that were otherwise held in the back of the bar for them.

"Looks like you've got a lost weekend planned, so I'll leave you to it. Just let me know when you want to leave so I can call a Lyft driver who won't cop a feel when they're driving your drunk white ass back home," Jim murmured, before sauntering off to take another order.

That was the trait Chloe appreciated the most; his uncanny ability to know when she wanted to talk, and when she wanted to be left the fuck alone so she could booze out in peace. Well, that and the fact he knew how to take care of his customers, when they didn't feel like taking care of themselves.

She looked down at the cold, purple slush. A mixture of grain alcohol and powdered drink mix forced to freeze with judicious application of dry ice, Rocket Fuel was, by far, Chloe's favorite alcohol delivery method. Delicious as hell, it packed a wallop, delivering a giddy, happy euphoria unmatched by most other cocktails. Not that Chloe could ever be described as giddy, happy or euphoric these days.

Especially today.

 _Need all the help I can get_.

Chloe took an over-sized bite of her hot dog and chewed hard. As the spicy sauce burned her mouth, she added a sizable mouthful of the slushy concoction, trading a hot mouth for brain freeze. She struggled to swallow as quickly as possible as she reached for the fries out of habit, but then paused…

...she knew there was an emptiness inside that alcohol and junk food weren't going to fill. But damn if she couldn't figure out how to stop trying the same thing over and over, hoping for different results.

Rising up from her seat, Chloe drifted over towards the far edge of the tavern, up to the fencing where she could see the rest of the Arts District beyond the confines of the park. Glancing forlornly at her drink, she took another long, frosty pull, and then poured a little out over the side, watching as chunky purple droplets spattered the sidewalk below.

"You have a reason to be wasting perfectly good booze?" Jim quietly asked, coming up from behind her.

Half laughing, half sobbing, Chloe said, "As a matter of fact, I got two. Two people who got the fucking shitty end of the stick from the universe. All because…all because they made the biggest mistake of their lives."

"Oh? Sounds pretty egregious. What might that be?"

Chloe turned to face Jim, a sour expression of self-loathing twisting up her face. "Being my friend."

She downed the rest of what was in her mug, and gripped hard at the railing with her free hand as she did her best to endure the sharp, nearly blinding stab of pain it produced in her forehead. She started to rub instinctively at the roof of her mouth, but forced herself to stop, preferring instead to absorb the full brunt of the sharp ache as long as possible.

She hadn't realized her eyes were wet until she felt the tears land on her fingers.

Holding out the mug to Jim, she hoarsely whispered, "Hit me." The two of them locked eyes, and for a moment she thought he would turn her down. She started psyching herself up for a fight, as part of her wondered what would happen if he said no. Would she make a fuss? Would she push him around? Would it get violent, and would she end up getting thrown out?

Much to her relief and disappointment, the older man simply took the mug, favored her with a bland, inscrutable expression, then turned and left.

Chloe drifted back to her seat, and in stark, grim solitude, polished off the rest of her meal in silence. October was always a difficult time: haunting and hateful. A week where she did her best to scourge her brain clean of any functional neurons, in a desperate, frantic attempt to find some measure of peace, a means to soften the blow, even if just for a few days. She'd always been told it would get easier, that time would dull the sharp roughness of the wound. But if anything, five years on, the pain felt like shrapnel, buried deep inside. Worming its way ever closer to her heart, as if heralding the slow but inevitable demise that waited for her.

How long could it go on like this? Another five years? Ten? Maybe this would be the year where she'd finally pass out - after guzzling down her entire liquor cabinet - and never wake up again. The notion held no small amount of relief, and the most disturbing thing about it to Chloe was how, little by little, the idea became less disturbing to her.

After three mugs of Rocket Fuel, and another couple of hits from her own vape pen, she staggered out across the park and into the car waiting to take her back to her apartment. As short-term memory fuzzed into oblivion, Chloe was struck by a brief but singularly overpowering mental image: herself, trapped in a sealed room, one slowly filling with water. For the moment, she'd managed to stay afloat, keep her head above level. But sooner or later…

...what happened when the room was full? When there was no air left to breathe?

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ Is this thing on? Holy hell how...how do I upload and publish again? Seriously, it's been almost a year. Oh..oh THERE we go.

*ahem*

Hi kids! It's been a while, but I'm back.

Sooooo...this story is something new for me, in that it was written from start to finish before a single chapter was published. It took me 9 months to complete, and staying motivated was very difficult at times, but being able to go back and re-read the entire work, and correct for continuity glitches and add in new bits has been utterly fantastic. It has allowed me to avoid all sorts of pitfalls I ran into with a lot of my past stories, where I was writing "on-the-fly" chapter by chapter. Especially large epics like Black Swan and Once More Unto The Breach.

What made me decide to go in this direction? I took inspiration from one of, IMO, the finest writers in the community, **TomorrowHeart**. While Ouroboros is a great work, his greatest story was one done with **MaiQueti,** Play Crack The Sky. An 80k long written out entirely over six months before being published.

Holy shit. I cannot...CANNOT...say enough great things about this work. It is powerful, it is riveting, it is probably the best post-Bay story ever written. Tom has incredible writing instincts. He knows exactly when to chase the characters up the tree, and how to keep throwing rocks at them instead of letting them down. So naturally, when the time came, and I wanted to write my next story, I reached out to him (we'd already struck up a friendship over PCTS) and asked if he'd be interested in brainstorming the plot and beta-reading my output. I am so ultra-fortunate he agreed to both. He was a lodestone (heh) helping to reassure me I was on the right track, and helping me figure out the initial kinks in my story concept and plot overview. A million-and-one thank-yous to him, for all his help, motivation, et al! I realized that if I was going to grow as a writer, I needed to be able to take this challenge on. I'm rather pleased with myself that I succeeded. ;-)

There is also someone else that I want to thank: **Leosch**. He first caught my attention when he managed to find a whole crapton of mistakes that slipped past my editing when I was doing Grande Dame. I always remembered his critical eye and thorough attention to detail, and the fact that he's a non-native English speaker meant that he has a much sharper grasp of proper grammar and structure that I sometimes take for granted. I am excessively fortunate that he's agreed to proofread this story, and I will be publishing chapters as he hands them back to me.

Also: yeah. More Las Vegas. People who know me know I have a tremendous love/hate relationship with the place. But Container Park? OMG, it is so awesome, and very real. You need to check it out if you are ever in LV.

Sooo...so yeah. It feels really good to be back, everyone. Writing these notes now, I realize how much I missed you all. Some of you who know me on Twitter and Facebook know that 2018 has been an extremely eventful year: I came out to a lot of people as trans, I very nearly got divorced, I fell in love with an amazing woman who continues to be the light of my life, grew close with another amazing woman as well, and I've started HRT. As you can imagine, this all slowed up the pace of my writing a little. ;-D But thank you, to all my friends and loved ones, for helping me through hard times.

See ya'll soon!

P.S. If you've enjoyed this work, or my others, and you want to help me buy a dress, some foundation, or a book, feel free to donate to my

Kofi! /lytaherself


	2. Chapter 2

_Chloe sits alone in her room, sobbing furiously, surrounded by the wreckage of what took years to arrange but only a few minutes of rage to sunder._

 _It was all too much, too fast, too soon. Bad enough that the enormity of Max's sacrifice, of how close she herself had come to dying in her place was finally forcing its way through the thick walls of emotional numbness. Max's death alone would have been more than she could endure; i_ _t destroyed her,_ _how the tantalizing glimpse of reconciliation_ _-_ _something Chloe so hungrily desired - was dangled out in front, only to be yanked back. And now all of those lost opportunities. All of those chances for the two of them to reconnect, to catch up on their experiences of the previous five years. To process their feelings, to air grievances. To ask why, why, why did she leave her behind, why did Max abandon her, why did she never write back? A chance to pull out her journals, the ones she wrote to a Max who would never read them. A chance to make her former best friend understand the agony that her sudden departure put her through._

 _But in truth, Chloe would have gladly forgiven everything a thousand times over. She never realized how desperate she was for that moment, to see the soft-spoken girl one more time: her first mate, her partner in crime, her confidant. Five years on - and two days after her death - Chloe had barely begun to turn and face the truth: Max Caulfield's absence in her life devastated her._

 _And the only reason she managed to endure it as long and as well as she did was because of Rachel Amber._

 _She still can't remember exactly what happened when the police came to her mother's door. They'd already questioned her once, and it hadn't been pleasant. Oh yes, of course it was tragic, they told her, and so terrible to witness someone being shot...but Chloe, what_ were _you doing trespassing on campus? What business did you have with Nathan? Did you say anything to him that would make him shoot Max?_

 _Or himself?_

 _Those assholes! They were soooooo desperate to find a way to pin this all on her! To exonerate the fucking Psycho Prince of Arcadia Bay. And now, here they were, back to take another crack at her. Well, she'd show them; they were about to find out that Chloe Price, the Bitch of the Bay, had motherfucking teeth!_

 _Steeling herself for a fight, Chloe immediately deflated when she saw the officers weren't alone; they had the DA in tow._

James Amber.

 _Along with his wife._

" _Chloe...they...they found Rachel. We didn't want to tell you this over the phone. You two were so close, and it's only right you hear it from me."_

 _Before killing himself, Nathan confessed, all jumbled, and frantic, and disjointed. He confessed to something, about Mark Jefferson, and a 'Dark Room'. Things that didn't make sense, things that David couldn't talk about, because it was part of an ongoing investigation. But it was enough to lead the police to the underground bunker, and the hidden photo studio inside. The binders, filled with innocent victims. She barely hears the mumbled apologies of one of the officers, when the subject comes up, that Chloe herself was one of the violated._

 _Rose put on a brave facade, but it didn't last for more than a minute before she turned and burst into a fresh wave of tears. James' own voice was rough and tight with guilt and despair._

" _You...you were the only one who believed, Chloe. You kept looking for her. My only daughter, and I just assumed she ran off to follow a dream just….just like…"_

 _He almost fell to his knees then and there. They'd never talked about it. Over three years, and they'd never talked about Sera, about Rachel's birth mother, and what had actually happened. What he'd almost done, the way he'd inadvertently destroyed her life in the name of protecting his daughter. Chloe kept that terrible, burning, shameful secret tucked away in the deep recesses of her mind, pushing down the pangs of guilt that still followed her into her dreams, after all this time._

 _She should have hated James Amber forever for what he did; but now, seeing him there, so small, and so broken..._

" _She...she's dead, Chloe. That Prescott….freak!" he snarled out, not caring who heard. His anguish was raw and bloody. "And that pretty-boy teacher, Jefferson! They killed her. Months ago. Buried her in the junkyard, like she was nothing more than…"_

 _A hand slowly crept up to cover his face; it was more than he could bear, and he joined his wife's mournful wailing._

" _My little girl. My baby! My angel!"_

 _Everything after that was a frozen blur._

 _And so it was that in one week, Chloe attended two seperate funerals: one for each of her closest friends. At least with Max, they made her look peaceful, as if she were doing little more than sleeping. But Rachel? What was left wasn't fit for public display._

 _Chloe shuffled along, barely able to feed or dress herself. Too stunned to shed any tears, too shocked to grieve. Too numb to feel._

 _A smothering blanket that kept her disconnected from her emotions; a shroud that concealed her heart until she stepped back into her room upon returning from Rachel's funeral._

 _The door closed behind her._

 _The world turned red._

 _When it's over, when the madness subsides, her throat feels like she's swallowed a whole package of razor blades. Her knuckles are scraped and bloody, and there's a hole in the drywall where she's punched it. There's glass, and water, and fabric, books and electronics and clothes, and it's all a chaotic quiltwork, the aftermath of a tornado of purest, blindingly hot rage._

 _She hates, and hates, and hates a world that would do this. She doesn't know what else to feel._

 _So she cries, curled up on the floor, her bed against her back. She weeps, not knowing or caring if the tears will ever stop. She weeps, not hearing or caring that the door has opened and heavy footfalls tentatively make their way towards her._

" _Chloe?"_

 _A man's voice. Soft, uncertain. Vulnerable. The voice of someone so terribly out of his element, standing in the face of a battle that even a soldier such as himself is woefully unprepared for._

 _Chloe opens her eyes and looks up at her stepfather. She clears her tear-soaked eyes as she regards him. She takes a deep breath, pushes herself up to a sitting position, and tries to yell at him. Get out! Go away!_

 _Nothing comes out, other than a few helpless squawks. She swallows hard and looks up at him again; finally, she sees him. For who he really is, in this moment here and now._

 _David Madsen is a man hopeless and forlorn. His heart is breaking…._

 _...breaking for her_

" _C-...can I sit?"_

 _She gives a phlegmy cough, before pointing at a piece of floor beside her. He kneels down, and reaches out an uncertain arm, hesitating at first, as if the merest contact between them will cause her to crumble into dust._

 _Chloe should hate him, for everything that he represents. For everything that he's done, and taken from her. But she also remembers a day, a time long ago. A picture given to her for safekeeping. A story told, of a best friend lost. It was one of the few honest, authentic moments of empathy that passed between them, and suddenly, Chloe finds herself desperate to be comforted. She wearily leans in against him, and he lets out a sigh of relief, draping his arm around her._

" _I-I took an oath to serve this country." he says with a jerky start. "They sent me to boot, taught me how to fight, and how to be a part of something bigger than myself. We all knew what we were getting into, how any of us could die. I mean, we all told ourselves we knew, but even when it happened, despite all that training, hardly any of us….could believe it, when it did."_

 _She stares out silently._

 _He tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling, then rubs his face. "I was a soldier, Chloe. I always knew what that meant. What might happen to me, and to the men...and women I served with. But you….you were an innocent. What happened to you this week? Y-you were an innocent little girl, and I'm s-s-so sorry…"_

 _He sheds tears of such profound anguish for her. Chloe blinks, disbelieving, as her nemesis, the 'stepdouche', the dickhead, the man who swaggered into her life and tried to take everything that didn't belong to him, inexorably crumbles in the face of her pain. She feels so disconnected now, so disassociated from herself. It's another Chloe, listening to him cry piteously in the otherwise silent room, feeling his body shake with one suppressed sob after another. And it's someone else who speaks the words that come out of her mouth._

" _David? Am I a good person?"_

 _The question clearly shocks him._

" _What?" he furiously rubs at his face, unable to believe what he's been asked. "Chloe...you…" It's was a loaded inquiry. So complex, and filled with years of emotion, and fraught with distrust and…_

 _...but his quick response belies all of that. The answer he gives is clearly so obvious to him in this moment._

" _Yes Chloe. You are….you're a very good person. You're smart, and...and passionate. And loyal…."_

 _She doesn't let him finish, her voice, dejected and fractured, sounds like metal gears grinding painfully against one another._

" _No. No I'm...not. I don't know what I did, but it must have been terrible." She continues to speak in a dull, flat monotone, ignoring the look of complete shock blossoming on David's face. "First my Dad dies...just...being himself. Picking up Mom, going alone so I could keep hanging out with Max. If she wasn't there, I probably would have been in the car, and both of us would be dead. Then Max, my best friend in the whole world, who leaves for Seattle the day my Dad died, who ignores me for five whole years, suddenly shows up out of nowhere and takes a bullet for me. Tells me she's sorry, tells me it's all her fault…and...and Rachel. My Rachel, who picked me up and dusted me off. They'd never've found her, if Max hadn't died, if Nathan hadn't freaked. Probably would've capped me and not blinked, but he killed someone good, he killed someone innocent, and it drove him insane."_

 _David pauses overlong, before he finally asks, "Chloe? What are you saying?"_

 _She shakes her head slowly back and forth, as if the strain of doing so is killing her. "I...don't know what I did, David. I don't know why the universe keeps punishing me. But...I'm sorry. F-for whatever it was."_

 _She finally cracks, and the tears continue anew. "I'm sorry." she repeats. Over and over again, with increasing desperation._

 _She buries her face in David's side, and cries out, as loud as her damaged throat will allow, "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it! I didn't mean any of it, whatever I did! Please, make it stop! Please make it stop, David! I'm so sorry I didn't give you a chance, I'm so sorry for what I did to Mom, and….why! Why! I did something to deserve this! I just...I don't know what!"_

 _She looks up at him with pleading eyes, and to his obvious shame, he flinches, unable to look at her._

" _People die around me." She suddenly pushes herself up and crawls away from him. "People I care about die! So...so just leave! Please! Oh God, please, just walk out, David! I don't...I don't want anyone else to die! Not because of me! Please….run...run!"_

 _She curls up into a ball, forcing out two simple words before everything goes black._

" _Save yourself."_

* * *

Chloe woke with a jerk, causing her to roll out of bed and onto the floor. Wobbling unsteadily to her feet, she made her way to the bathroom by pure instinct alone, dropping to her knees in front of the toilet with barely a moment to spare before her stomach violently emptied itself.

Flopping onto her back, she wiped her mouth, stared up at the ceiling, and said, "Oh look. I survived. Again. Yay me."

Once she regained a little more strength, she made her way into the living room, squinting viciously against the overwhelming brightness of the sunset. The condominium she owned was surprisingly nice, perched as it was on the twentieth level in one of the new high-rise projects built over the last five years in the downtown district. Even with all of the amenities the complex offered, the price was surprisingly reasonable. Granted, she was only able to afford the downpayment by spending almost every penny she received in settlement money as part of a class action civil suit launched by herself, Kate Marsh, and the other survivors against Sean Prescott. Under normal circumstances, the lawsuit pursued against him for the role that his negligence played in the deaths and violations perpetrated by his son and Mark Jefferson would have been doomed to failure, but Arcadia Bay's richest man had made a powerful enemy in James Amber. Both men had secrets that could destroy them if brought out into the light of day, and both had lost children and were feeling raw and emotional. But of the two, the D.A. was willing to burn his entire life to the ground in the pursuit of justice. Thus, it was no surprise when Prescott blinked and settled out of court.

Still, Chloe needed someone with significant assets to co-sign the loan; while her mother's financial situation was better than in years past, there were enough liens against the house to prevent it from being acceptable collateral. That was when the Caufields surprised the hell out of her by adding their considerable finances to the mix.

"It's what Max would have wanted." they told her. In the face of losing their own daughter, Ryan and Vanessa coped by looking out for Chloe as if she were their own flesh and blood; there were days that she nearly sold the property out of a sheer, staggering sense of unworthiness.

On her own, she could afford the mortgage payments, but it didn't leave her a lot of disposable income; there was an extra bedroom she could live without, so she took on a roommate - a young woman by the name of Phaedra. Their work schedules were often flipped, and they saw little of each other under normal circumstances, which suited Chloe fine. She didn't know much about her tenant, though in a city like Vegas, 'working nights' could run the gamut from something as innocuous as being a casino dealer to the more tawdry options such as stripping or professional escorting. But Phaedra paid her rent on time, never made a mess or caused any problems, and even chipped in for the occasional spot of professional cleaning service.

Rifling through her liquor cabinet, Chloe pulled out a half-empty bottle of Yukon Jack, swallowing a mouthful to take the edge off, before making her way to the outside balcony. Flopping down into one of the deck chairs, she pulled out her cell phone and went through the new voicemail messages waiting for her

" _Chloe, it's your mother. Just wanted to see how you were doing. I know you're sick of hearing me say it, but you don't call enough. I worry 'bout you, all alone in that huge city. That and...well I know what October does to you so...just call me, alright? Let me know you're safe. David sends his love too."_

Chloe took another slug from the bottle and nodded to her phone. "Thanks, Mom." she breathed out, before deleting the message. In the past half-decade since Max and Rachel's murders, the constant, rebellion-driven tension between the two of them had receded, only to be replaced by an intentional distance of Chloe's creation.

 _Wish you understood, Mom. I'm doing this for you and David, because I love you both. You don't wanna see me, anyhow. Not like this._

She skipped through a few messages left by some of her regulars trying to set up appointments before listening to one sent from a number in Seattle.

" _Hi Chloe, it's Ryan Caulfield. It's - um. Yeah, it's early October so...uh. Hard to believe, five years now. Vanessa, she's taking it pretty hard today. Made me think that you're probably in the same place. So give me a call, okay kiddo? You know we both think the world of you, and we're so proud of how much you've achieved over the years. We know Max would be proud of you as well."_

Biting down painfully on the inside of her cheek, Chloe bowed her head. The Caulfields had done so much for her, and in the days when they still lived in Arcadia Bay, they'd become a second family. At the very least, she owed them a call; not just because they stuck their necks out for her financially so she could get settled in Las Vegas, but because she could imagine how much they were still suffering from the loss of their daughter.

Chloe laid back, and as she stared up at the darkening sky, she wondered why they didn't hate her.

 _Shoulda been me. That asshole Nathan was right about one thing: no one would have missed my punk ass._

Her phone dinged loudly; a text message flashed up on her screen. She didn't recognize the number - it wasn't someone from her personal contacts list.

 _Chloe. This is James Amber. I know we haven't talked in a very long time, but I wanted you to know that Rose and I will never forget what you meant to our daughter, and how you never gave up looking for her. Without you, her killer might still be walking free. You were there with us during trying and difficult times in our life. Sometimes I had grave doubts about your relationship with Rachel, but you made her very happy. Your loyalty will always be remembered.  
_

 _I am told you are living in Las Vegas now. The ADA there is a personal friend; do not hesitate to mention me if the need ever arises._

 _James and Rose_

Chloe couldn't help but roll her eyes. After all these years, there was a still a bitter taste in her mouth over the situation between him and Sera. She tried to tell herself that things got out of hand, that in his heart of hearts, James Amber was guilty of being no more than an overprotective father who was desperate to keep his only child from falling into that same abyss…

 _But he was still fucking responsible! I mean...fuck. Okay, yes, sure, *I* was the one who destroyed evidence and worked with Damon...shit!_

Maybe he would have drawn the line there. Maybe he would have leaned hard on Damon to let Sera go. But in the end, he'd let loose a rabid dog on an innocent woman. He set into motion the course of events that would ultimately ruin her life.

If she was even still alive at this point.

 _Dunno. Sera got clean once. She could do it again._

Chloe chided her naiveté as she downed most of what was left in the bottle. When she last saw her, Rachel's mother was a broken, defeated woman. She'd begged her to keep the secret, to let her daughter see her father as a good, kind, and loving man.

 _And fuck me! Fuck me with a broom for going along with that shit._

She always wondered what would have happened if she went the other way - if she zigged instead of zagged. Said 'to hell with this!' and told Rachel the truth that she had the right to know.

 _Maybe she'd still be alive. And the two of us would have run out of town together. And then, Rachel would still be alive - and….and Max would be too! Because I wouldn't have gotten into debt, and I wouldn't have gotten tangled up with Nathan, and…_

What was the point? What was done was done. This was, for good or for ill, the best of all possible worlds available to her. The die was cast, the Rubicon was crossed. There would be no going back.

Still, it would be a hell of a thing if she could.

Chloe finished off the rest of the bottle, as a pleasant, numbing buzz returned to her brain. Then she laughed softly to herself as she impulsively threw it as hard as she could, listening to it whistle in the breeze as it sped towards the ground. She held her breath until she could barely make out the faint but viscerally satisfying crunch sound, before dashing quickly back inside.

 _Hah! I might need that favor from James after all!_

* * *

There was a knock on the door a few minutes later. Chloe had been making significant headway downing a few shots of what she jokingly referred to as "The Boneyard." It was a large jug, whose contents were made up of the dregs of whatever liquor she hadn't fully killed over the past few years. Eternally shifting, always different, and consistently terrible, but it did the job, when there wasn't much of anything else left in the house.

"Fuck" she mumbled, before rising up and unsteadily making her way to the door. "That was quick, I wonder how the hell they managed to figure out it was me."

Without even considering the check the peephole, she opened up the door, expecting to come face to face with Las Vegas' finest.

"Who figured out what now?" said the woman on the other side.

Chloe slumped wearily against the door jamb as she tried to figure out who the hell this woman...this…

 _...oh hey! Man, she's really cute._

With her almond-shaped eyes slim build, chestnut hair pulled back into a ponytail, and full lips, she was definitely the sort of butchy femme that Chloe would go for.

 _If...if I went for...you know, if I even thought I could take a chance and get close to anyone…_

Why the hell was she here? Was she one of Phaedra's friends? Who the hell else would come here? Certainly not to see her, that's for damn sure.

But there was something familiar about the other woman. Like an old song, half-remembered, and it was driving her crazy - the answer was right on the tip of her tongue, but stubbornly refusing to reveal itself.

Chloe's eyes fell upon the dragon-wing necklace clasped around the woman's neck, just above the off-the-shoulder female warrior t-shirt she was wearing, and suddenly, everything clicked into place.

"Stephanie Gingrich." Almost falling over in disbelief, she gripped the door and said, "Oh my fucking God!".

"I still prefer Steph, thanks." the other woman said with a smirk, before crossing her arms across her chest.

Without her old trademark beanie, Chloe hadn't immediately recognized her, but it was so obvious now. God, she looked amazing: not too much muscle, just the right amount of curves and fat. Baggy cargo pants had given way to skinnier jeans and engineer's boots. Just the sight of her prompted a maelstrom of memories from years back.

Chloe wasn't sure how it happened, didn't remember actually giving her a tight, desperate hug until she was all the way there. It was as if her brain short-circuited from the surreality of the situation. It was strange enough to expect anyone from her 'old' life to appear, let alone someone she hadn't seen in over five years. Steph graduated at the end of the 2012-2013 school year, only returning once…

...for Rachel's funeral.

They'd stayed friends even after Chloe's expulsion from Blackwell. Indeed, Steph was one of the only students other than Rachel still interested in hanging out with her. Chloe would drop in for the odd guest appearance in her ongoing Dungeons and Dragons campaign, and afterwards they would hang out, and talk, and smoke, but beyond that they didn't spend as much time together. Mostly due to the fact that Rachel was the light of Choe's life during those years together, and while she was the consummate actress, the flashy blonde never particularly cared for tabletop RPGs.

They'd fallen out of touch, and for all intents and purposes Chloe was fine with letting every aspect of her past drop away. But in this moment, here in this hour of quiet desperation and loneliness, Steph Gingrich was a shining beacon in the darkness, one of the only living reminders of what little had been good during her teenage years.

Chloe blushed, immediately releasing her before stepping back. "Oh. My God. Sorry!"

Steph quickly wiped the look of surprise off her face, then smiled warmly. "That was nice. And unexpected, but don't stop on my account."

Nervously rubbing at the back of her neck, Chloe said, "Hah. Yeah. Uh. I may be - just a little bit - more drunk than I thought. "

"No shit, I can smell it on your breath. I guess you're starting the weekend off right, huh?" Steph laughed, then struck a dramatic pose and said, "Hail, Callimastia! I have journeyed far across these accursed lands to find you here, in the Barony of Light and Glass! Would you allow a weary traveller to shelter but for a short while in your humble abode?"

Chloe blinked, as her alcohol-fogged brain tried to keep up. She eventually burst out laughing, but quickly cut herself sort. "Oh! Oh man I...ha ha! Sorry...I can't believe you're still into that DnD stuff!"

Steph poked her on the sternum with a fingertip. "Oh hell yes. More than ever. Great way to meet women."

Chloe's jaw slowly dropped. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Met you, didn't I?" Steph responded, fixing her with a knowing look.

She felt curiously uncomfortable under her old friend's pointed gaze, a warm rush flushing her cheeks. Suddenly, it was all Chloe could do to hold at bay the million tiny regrets rushing to meet her. If only she washed up, if only she wasn't half-drunk on the worst sort of booze, if only she'd tidied up. She usually had zero fucks to spend on that sort of thing, especially as she never entertained company…

...but suddenly she wished she knew who was coming. She would have put some effort into so many things.

"So...can I come in, or is this gonna get super awkward?"

Chloe jumped back, wondering how long she'd silently stood there looking like a complete idiot. "Oh Jesus. Yes! Sure, sure. Just...sorry about the mess."

Steph shrugged nonchalantly, "It's cool. I mean, it's not exactly fair that I didn't call first, buuuut - I don't know. I just felt like surprising you."

"Oh! Yeah! Surprise. Mission hella accomplished!"

Did she just say 'hella'? She hadn't used that stupid word in years.

"'Kay, uh. Soooo...take a seat. You want a drink?", Chloe said.

"As long as it isn't whatever rotgut you've clearly been throwing back this evening, sure, that'd be awesome. Beer's fine, if you got any."

Chloe dashed over to her fridge, which was, as usual, little more than a random assortment of take-out containers, wilted produce, and half open-bottles. There was a small section near the back for things that were specifically Phaedra's; her roommate didn't ask for much, other than 'Don't take my things out of the fridge.'

Which Chloe, being the gracious and thoughtful hostess that she always was, usually respected. . Most of the time. Well, occasionally. At least several times a month.

 _Oh man, but she's got some fancy looking beer in the back! Shit!_

Deciding that she would make it up to Phaedra later - of course she'd understand! - Chloe grabbed a couple of the brown, frosty bottles, and twisted the caps off. She walked back into the living room and offered up one of the drinks to Steph.

"The finest brew on tap, here at the Chloespire."

She gracelessly threw herself down into a nearby seat, and took a long pull as Steph exclaimed, "Oh! Not Your Father's Root Beer. The really hard version, too. That's one of my faves!"

Completely unprepared for the taste, Chloe nearly spat out the mouthful of spicy-sweet brew; it wasn't bad, just not what her brain was expecting. But once she managed to choke down the first pull and switch mental gears, she found it highly pleasant; if anything, it would probably taste better without the razor-bite of malt liquor in it, but booze was booze, and Chloe wasn't in any mood to stop imbibing.

Trying to regain her cool, she leaned forward and said, "Is that so? Maybe I knew all along. Perhaps my many spies and minions brought word of your arrival to my ears, and so I knew I could lure you here if I baited my trap enticingly enough."

It sounded much cooler in her head, but before she could offer a lame apology, Steph burst out laughing, "Ha! You still totally play Dungeons and Dragons too! C'mon, 'fess up."

"Ah. Yeah, sorry. I haven't, not really. Not since that last game we played, right before you graduated Blackwell. Besides…" Chloe huffed out, staring towards the windows. "I outgrew playing pretend a long time ago."

As she said the words, a sharp vision flashed across her mind's eye: she and Max playing in her backyard, digging up their old time capsule. She could almost hear a soft voice brushing against her ears.

" _Arrrr Cap'n Bluebeard!"_

Her breath caught in her throat; she hadn't thought about that day in so long. She'd almost forgotten there was more to it, more than just her father's tragic death. She closed her eyes tightly, viciously pushing it out from her mind as she downed half of her bottle in one gulp.

"Oh bullshit, Price. You are strong with the drama geek. Might not have seen your break-out debut as Ariel when we put on The Tempest, but I watched the video afterwards. The way Rachel broke character and shamelessly flirted with you in iambic pentameter. I don't know how you managed to stay standing - I know _my_ knees went weak." Steph pretended to fan herself.

Chloe bowed her head and laughed tightly. There was a growing ache inside, a sharp, razor-edged frisson of sadness and joy running up and down her chest. It felt good, how Steph's presence quickly brought back those moments.

It was also the worst possible thing in the world for her.

Shoving it all back into the overflowing box she kept sealed in the back of her brain, Chloe looked back up and asked in a flat voice, "So. What brings you to Vegas, anyhow? Vacation? This...ah...doesn't exactly seem like your kinda city."

Steph tilted her head, clearly taking that a a challenge. In a light, playfully mocking tone, she said, "Oh? Are you now the guardian of The City of Verdant Plains? Do all travelers passing through these lands need your permission to do so? Ha! Well, if you must know, you're looking at the new executive production manager for the entire Lady Gaga residency at the MGM Park Theater; and if that goes well, and it's going to go fucking great, then they'll have more lined up for me."

At this, Chloe was honestly impressed. "Wow. I mean...wow! Shit. Wait, really? You must be barely a year out of college and you're already running big Vegas-level shit?"

Steph shrugged, taking a moment to cross her legs as she straightened up with pride, "I only took the two years needed to get my Associates degree in theater management, and did a bunch of dues paying off-Broadway and then on-Broadway while I worked on the Bachelors. Three months ago, some bigwig from the Strip saw the work I did while he was visiting New York City, liked it a lot, and decided to - no pun intended - take a gamble on me. So yeah. Heh. No pressure. None at all." She grinned sheepishly, and for a moment, Chloe could see the scared vulnerability behind her bravado.

"Wait. Really? So you came all this way out here just so you could jump for the brass ring, on an all-or-nothing career move?"

Steph could only nod, licking her lips nervously as she took measured sips from her bottle.

Chloe whistled, "Wow, bitch. I mean...for serious. Wow. That is some major ovaries-on-the-outside level of balls. Like...welcome to Vegas, sweetie, where dreams come to briefly live and painfully die!"

Steph groaned, and then frowned at her, "Gee. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Chloe felt a stab in her gut; she hadn't meant to belittle her friend, and it bothered her that she took it that way.

"I'm actually hella impressed, for real-real. Totes. You may proceed to bask in my adulation and admiration." She finished off the root beer, and paused to grab another, figuring that if she was in for a penny with Phaedra, she was in for a pound. Cracking it open and taking a swig, she continued, "Besides. Don't worry. You're gonna be fine, Steph. Legit. I totally remember how anal-as-hell you were about every detail when you ran stage production in high school. Ah God, and those sketches you made. For designing costumes and shit? So jealous. And the sets and everything...and it's gonna be the best." She rose up to her feet, feeling a wave of inspiration pushing her forward. "You're gonna kick ass, Steph. This is how your life blows up, starting now. Right to the top! And after this run is over, Lady Gaga is gonna beg you to stay on and do shit, and then it'll be this really messy cage match between her and Britney Spears and Miley Cyrus." Her voice grew with a soulful fanaticism as she continued, "And...and then you'll make your first million before you turn 30, and everyone will ask you how you did it, and you know what you're gonna say?!"

Steph shook her head, smiling wide as she said, "No. Do tell."

"You're gonna say, 'My friend Chloe told me I was put here on earth to kick ass and drink rum. And I'm all out of fucking rum, bitches!"

Steph burst out into peals of laughter; rich, vibrant, warm. She shook her head incredulously and waved her bottle in Chloe's direction. "You are so drunk right now!"

Chloe returned to her easy chair. "My preferred state, thank you very much." A moment of overlong silence passed between the two of them, before she asked, "Wait. So how exactly did you find me, anyhow?"

"Your Mom." Steph said playfully, as if it were an insult. "Or rather, my Mom. Was having breakfast at the Two Whales. And she was of course bragging like hell to everyone in earshot, so Joyce told her about what you were up to, and Mom told me, and soooo. Here I am. Word is you're a hot-shit tattoo artist. I didn't believe it at first until I started casually asking around, and wouldn't you know it, some people around here think you're kind of a big deal."

Chloe leaned back and smiled. It was a thing born of honest, heartfelt emotion, as opposed to all the fakery she deployed when socially expected. It was strange; the authenticity of it felt alien across her lips, like the first few drops of rain drumming against the hard, cracked earth of a drought-ravaged riverbed. A distant memory of a future that could yet be.

"Well, that's only because I _am_ kind of a big deal."

"In your own mind, if nothing else!" Steph teased. "Awww, don't pout. 'Cause now I totally know where to go when I get my next tattoo done."

"Next?" Chloe murmured, half around the mouth of the bottle as she took another swig. "You gotta get the first one to start. You look totally blank."

Steph smirked and leaned in a bit. "For all you know, it's somewhere usually covered up."

Chloe blinked; it was all she could do to keep from sputtering as the sudden realization flashed up.

 _Oh….holy shit! Has she been flirting with me the whole time?_

Maybe she was jumping the gun, seeing too much into things that weren't actually there, but the conversation she'd had earlier with Dirk was still fresh in her mind.

" _She was showing you the goods, babe."_

Chloe viciously ground down upon any sparks of wild notions drifting through her brain before they had a chance to set off a blaze of misinterpreted signals and incorrect conclusions.

 _She's just...just being Steph. And you're just being drunk, you stupid bitch!_ _Stop it!_

Steph smiled and said, "Cool, are you blushing?"

"What? No." Chloe squeaked in return. She cleared her throat, and continued, "Believe me, I've seen so many naked body parts in my line of work, it all just...slides off my brain after a while."

Steph nodded once, the look on her face clearly telegraphing that she didn't believe it whatsoever. "Anyhow, this is the part where I unveil the true and hideous purpose of my visit here."

"Oh yeah? Here to borrow money, right? Tales of the staggering Price family fortune have no doubt traveled to all four corners of the world."

"Yup. You got it in one. Write me a blank check and I'll be on my way." Steph deadpanned. "But seriously, I've just moved in to this huge, intimidating city for this huge, intimidating career move. And I don't know anyone here except you. So...um." At this, she reached up and started to nervously play with a strand of her hair, in a way where even Chloe, drunk and obtuse as she was, couldn't mistake the meaning of.

"So maybe we could get together for drinks or dinner or something, and we could catch up more. You could show me all the cool stuff in this town - Vegas through Chloe Price's eyes." Steph said, in a softer voice.

Chloe froze, as a panic welled up in her chest and spread its icy fingers out to her extremities. She felt like a deer trapped in headlights, paralized by the knowledge that something terrible was rushing headlong, and if she didn't dodge out of the way, it would meant the end of everything she knew. Her entire existence.

And yet…

...the light was so captivating, so blinding. The whiteness held the promise of the unknown, of freedom. A fresh, blank canvas waiting for her to put her mark down on it, for good or ill.

She found herself unable to breathe, her heart drummed painfully in her chest. She closed her eyes and downed her mostly-full bottle in one chug.

 _Oh...no. Shit. Cant! Cantcantcantcant…._

She felt herself being pulled in opposing directions, like a rabid fox dying of thirst in the desert, but so frightened of the water. It was one thing to push aside someone she barely knew, someone like Capella. But Steph Gingrich, out of the blue, here tonight of all nights. When she was drunk and vulnerable and lonely and...

Chloe stammered, "I - uh - um - gah. That is...tonight's no good."

"Well yeah, I wasn't thinking...like...now." Steph reassured her.

Nodding frantically, Chloe said, "Good. Yeah. Good good, because...because I - I - I gotta get to bed real soon. An early appointment-thing. Was just about to crash when you showed up. Lotta...lotta…" Chloe paused, the words refusing to come readily, forcing her to reach deep inside and force them up to the surface, "...work. Got a lot of that, and...um...other things. But yeah! Why don't I give you a call sometime - like when things aren't so crazy. I mean, I'm sure both of us will be hella busy and…"

With that, she sputtered out like an engine that finally burned through its last precious fumes of fuel. She could feel the hurt expression on Steph's face, the confusion. It was fresh and bright in her mind's eye, seeing as she couldn't actually stand to look at her with her actual ones.

"Oh." Steph said, and nodded once. She placed her bottle down on a nearby end table and rose up to her feet in one fluid motion. "Yeah. Sure, it's cool. I understand. We're both really...busy." She closed her eyes and paused for a moment, as her facial features shifted, smothering whatever was there previously, replacing it with all with a more neutral, half-smiling mask. She reached over, squeezed Chloe's shoulder, and said. "It was good to see you, Chloe. Give me a call sometime. If things ever get better."

Chloe burned with shame and relief, unable to look up in the other woman's direction. She nodded a few times, and droned out, "Yeah."

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, curled up on the couch once the door closed. She rocked herself back and forth, barely noticing when she finally rolled off and landed on the floor with a thud.

She stared off into space and spoke softly under her breath, ignoring the tears seeping out from her eyes.

"You did the right thing, Chloe."

That was the truth. She did the right thing, pushing Steph away. It was the right thing, because people died around her. People got too close, and they died.

"Don't think it doesn't kill me? Day...by day...don't think I didn't want to say…"

 _Yes._

She covered her eyes up with her hands and sobbed quietly.

She'd done the right thing. She protected someone she cared about.

From herself.

Because she was trying to be a good person.

This is what good people did.

* * *

 _Chloe doesn't remember how she came to be here, in this place. She last thing she faintly recalls is tearing through the apartment, downing every drop of booze she could lay hands on. There was probably a lot of weed being smoked as well. Anything and everything to numb herself to the painful reality of her existence._

 _Maybe she was dead. Or close to it. Hell, this place seemed good enough to fit the bill: all twisty corners, askew, misaligned. Like a darkling fragment of a memory misremembered. The tinny, lo-fi music playing from speakers unseen is both comforting and sinister._

 _It's a diner._

 _It's the Two Whales, except it's not. It's similar, in the way that her old childhood hangout was similar to every other prefab, lunch-car style diner in the country. A rotted notion of a Platonic ideal._

 _The dim, struggling light from the lamps is greedily swallowed by the darkness pressing against the windows and doors: a stark, hungry void that whispers in her brain if she stares out into it for too long. The tiling is yellowed and missing a few pieces here and there. The vinyl of the booths and stools is cracked and peeling. There are Others here. Other people, but...she can't quite_ see _them. Her gaze slides off their faces, their bodies, when she tries to focus. Chloe can't help but feel that they are equally incapable of fully homing in on her presence as well._

" _Hello?" she calls out. He voice sounds echoy in her ears. Incorrect. Like she's talking underwater. She wonders where to go from here - if there is anywhere else to go to - when she spots the booth in the corner. There's no great spotlight framing it, no pool of light chasing away the darkness and making the booth into a safe haven, but Chloe simply_ knows _that this is the place she should go to._

 _She stumbles as she slowly inches her way over. Gravity shifts, to one side and then the other, as if she were on a storm-tossed boat. Her stomach lurches in response. The smell of breakfast food is both immediately comforting and intensely nauseating. As she makes her way to the corner, the worst of her sensory issues calm._

 _There's someone else there. In the booth. Several someones, she's not sure how many. There's a chomping sound, a great gnashing of teeth. Food - God, she hopes it's food! - being consumed and savored._

 _Before she can question the wisdom of doing so, she collapses into the booth; the suffocating sense of alien otherness passes…_

Chloe gasped sharply, as if coming up for air. Her head still swam, and it was still difficult to focus, but she was possessed by a sense of...presence. The cushions beneath her back and rear, the hard, flat surface of the table; almost every instinct was screaming at her, that this was happening, that this was as real as anything she's ever encountered before in her life.

But it couldn't be. It simply couldn't...be.

Then she noticed the occupants at the other end of the table, revealing themselves slowly, like cars creeping slowly out from the dark horizon: a German Shepherd-Pitbull mutt, lapping away at a bowl of water on the table. Next to him was a gaunt looking man with sandy, jagged hair, a goatee, and bright brown eyes.

He appeared to be having a religious experience with the rapidly diminishing pile of beans on the plate before him.

"Oh...oh shit!" Chloe said, not believing any of it. "Frank? Frank Fucking Bowers?"

He looked up at her, and it was obvious that it was him, or damn close to it. But not entirely the same, either. There was a haggardness about him. Lines etched in his face, eyes sunken, and rimmed with dark circles. He wore a dark, faded hooded poncho, leaving only his hands and head exposed.

Frank grabbed a napkin from the table dispenser, wiped his mouth with a few quick swipes, and then threw it down onto the now-empty plate.

"Well, that was as fucking great as I remember. Love those beans. Your Mom, kid. She knew how to do them right."

Chloe tried to respond, but the best she could manage was a squeak from the back of her throat.

Frank nodded slowly in understanding. He reached out to give an affectionate pat to Pompidou's neck and back.

"Can't believe I'm gonna say this, but it's good to see you. Was waiting for you to finally make your way here. Had some money riding on that shit actually, so thanks for not letting me down for once." With that he held out his hand, past the 'bubble', and said to no one in particular, "Pay up." A few seconds later, he pulled the hand back, clutching a large, tightly-rolled wad of money.

As Frank slowly counted his winnings, he murmured, "Get comfy. You and me? We got some shit to discuss."

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** Man, **Leosch** was such a boss! He managed to knock out this chapter way way sooner than I was expecting. And I must say, it is fascinating to look at English grammar and structure through his eyes. I think it's going to make me a better writer going forward.

So now y'all know who the "mysterious figure" is. I have to admit that I had a lot of fun writing Frank and how he interacts with Chloe throughout the story. I hope you do as well. I know **TomorrowHeart** enjoyed it a lot, so I like to think I nailed this bit.

I wasn't certain I'd be able to get this up today. I really fucked up my ribs at the Gary Numan concert, but my chiropracter managed to fix me up. I'm still suffering from a lot of muscle soreness and temporary nerve damage, but at least I can kinda work at a computer again, especially after taking a Valium. Sadly, I have NOT had a chance to play Life is Strange 2, and I have to make a fuller recovery first before I can, but people tell me it's pretty awesome thus far.

And look! It's Steph! I love writing Steph. I have adored her since day one and she is my favorite new character from BtS.

I hope you all have a wonderful weekend!


	3. Chapter 3

Chloe peered incredulously at the man in front of her.

Frank Bowers. What was he to her, in the ratty tapestry that was her past?

Friend? Enemy? Mentor? Menace? Their relationship was far more complicated than just dealer and buyer, or borrower and lender. User and used. At the same time, each of those terms perfectly summed up their interactions over the years. Frank was a bastard, a man who didn't mind lashing out when it suited him, and yet Chloe was always aware of how he pulled his punches. How unlike Damon Merrick, there were lines he wouldn't cross.

Usually.

But things changed after Damon gave him the beating of his life; what few soft corners that were readily visible were made sharp and jagged. His skin toughened, he gathered his armor around him, never stopped looking over his shoulder, always anticipated the next great betrayal. That he would have anything to do with Chloe at all afterwards never ceased to surprise her.

But those weren't the only surprises he hid.

Justice came down hard and fast in the little town of Arcadia Bay, after Rachel's body was found; though James Amber was required to recuse himself from prosecuting the case directly, no one was terribly shocked when the ADA immediately started acting as little more than his proxy. A shadow war brewed between the DA's Office and Sean Prescott, and battle lines were quickly drawn. Frank wasted no time in turning state's evidence against Jefferson and Prescott in exchange for immunity. Not long afterwards, Prescott accepted a plea bargain, and a month later, he settled the class action civil suit brought against him before it reached a jury.

On the surface, Frank's actions appeared to be motivated by nothing more than egoistical self-interest. But Chloe saw the truth behind them, on the day she managed to catch him at a vulnerable moment, as he was walking into his RV in the diner parking lot.

That was the day she found out he and Rachel had been intimate.

That was the day she discovered he was the one who sold Nathan the ketamine he overdosed her with.

She should have been so furious at the revelation. But she saw the torment in his eyes. The guilt. Enough time had lapsed so that she finally understood what all of it meant to him, what it was doing to his state of mind.

After delivering his terse, rambling semi-confession, he bid Chloe farewell, then clambered slowly into his mobile home with Pompidou, and drove out of town.

She never saw either of them again.

Years later, Chloe occasionally wondered where he'd gone off to. Sometimes she even missed him, missed that he was perhaps the only other person in Arcadia Bay who truly understood how she felt. In the rare moments of kindness, where she could put aside her hurt and betrayal, she discovered an odd sense of joy in notion that Rachel found someone who made her happy. Chloe always suspected, deep in her heart of hearts, that she wasn't going to be the one to tie Rachael down, nor keep her all to herself.

She could no more enrapture the Sun itself than she could win the heart of Rachel Amber.

She knew that.

In a way, she always did.

That was then.

In the here and now, Frank was clearly worse for the wear. Sitting in front of her, in a place that shouldn't exist.

"Wow. This is the most fucked up dream I've ever had." was all Chloe could manage.

Frank tapped his lips with a single upturned finger, almost as if warning her.

"Careful with that line of thinking, kid. Just because you're dreaming doesn't mean this shit ain't real."

Chloe snorted derisively, "What's that supposed to mean? Okay yeah look, I'll admit it, this is neat. I've fucked myself up so badly I'm lucid dreaming now. Sucks though, I can't seem to control much. Otherwise, Scarlett Johansson would be sitting on my lap, dressed in a leather bikini and feeding me popcorn shrimp."

Frank smirked unkindly and shook his head, "This is more. Way more. And I think you know that. It has been a while since you were last here, in these little pockets between worlds."

Chloe gasped and glanced around, as she heard ravens cawing from out in the darkness. She gave Frank a startled look.

"Usually dreams are just dreams. Shit in your head, your mind trying to figure itself out. But every time you dream, the door swings open, leading out to someplace else. Some _places_. Most folks don't walk out, not all the way, and when they do, it's more like falling. Like tripping and falling towards the ground, but you miss. Suddenly you're hovering in the air, because you just created a paradox, so you fly off, and it works. But only as long as you don't think too hard about what just happened."

Chloe crossed her arms, "You know, I'm pretty sure I read that book years ago." She moved to rise up from the booth, "So yeah, so long and thanks for all the shits and giggles, but I'm wanna dream up someplace cooler than this before I wake up."

Frank quickly lost his patience, scrubbing at his face as he growled, "Jesus fuck, Price! Sit. The hell. Down. And just... listen. Alright? God! I wish I could say I forgot how annoying you were."

Chloe paused. A part of her was curious where this was going. Returning to the booth, she murmured, "Fine. Five minutes. But only because I still kinda owe you money," before picking up a Bloody Mary that hadn't been on the table a second ago. She drained half of it down before tucking into a stack of pancakes which suddenly came into existence. Mumbling around the food in her mouth, she asked, "Or is that _owed_. Are you dead, or what? Assuming you're even really Frank."

Giving a languid shrug of his shoulders, Frank said, "Not gonna make it that easy. Maybe I'm Frank. Maybe I'm the idea of Frank. Maybe I'm something else entirely, and the only way your brain can comprehend interacting with me is by making you think I'm someone from your past. But believe me when I say that I'm more than just a figment of your limited imagination."

Chloe flipped him the bird before pointedly pushing a slice of bacon over towards Pompidou, who eagerly scarfed it down. The dog briefly licked her fingers in appreciation.

"Been watching you, babe. For a while now. This life you've got. Kinda sucks don't it? I mean, I knew you mastered the art of being pathetic, but a lot of this feels like the same old song you sang in Arcadia Bay. Just louder, with more lights and booze and broken dreams."

At this, Chloe felt a sharp stinging of her pride. She took a deep breath, ready to ask him where the hell he got off, when she felt herself quickly deflate.

 _This is better than what I had in Arcadia Bay. Right? No, come on, seriously better…_

She had a job. One she liked, one she enjoyed, one that maybe didn't make her rich, but was enough to pay the bills, with something left over. And there were friends….or, at least people she was friendly with. And she did things like…

...like keeping the world from getting too close. Like drinking herself blind once a year, in order to deal with the shit she ran away from back home. All she was doing now was waiting for something to happen, a change that would make life worth living.

She just didn't know what that change would be.

Crossing her arms, Chloe murmured petulantly, "You just come to gloat or what? Because I don't need any help feeling like a fucking loser, thank you very much. Covering that angle by myself just fine."

"I can see that. And no, I'm not here to rub your face in the mud. Fuck, if anything, I'm probably the best friend you've got in the whole world right now. The guy who's gonna give you a shot at fixing it. Make it all better."

"Yeah right." Chloe instinctively shot back. "Even if I believed you, that you had the power to make things better, why would you? I mean okay, let's say you're really more than just a hallucination. What's in it for you?"

Frank laughed, nodding appreciatively in her direction. "There's the Chloe I know. Good kid, good. Don't be the naive idiot. Be the bad bitch who questions everything. Be the chick who stands at the gates of Troy and say 'What, are you fucking nuts? No, don't just drag that damn wooden horse into the city, check inside it first!"

"Cassandra" Chloe breathed out, wondering how the hell Frank would know to make a Trojan War reference.

"Yeah, I know" Frank said. "And don't look so surprised, I've read a book or two. More than you might think. There's a reason Rachel and I got together. Why we had a connection. She saw things in me that no one else…"

"Oh my fucking God! She wanted a way out of town, and you had an RV and money! Don't pretend like it was more than that." Chloe interrupted, angry about having that particular wrinkle in her past brought up. She was in no mood to be reminded of any of it.

They stared silently at each other, eyes locked. Frank chose to ignore her cutting remark, and continued, "Don't have an easy answer for you. Not one you'll understand, or accept. I mean, I could spin you some bullshit song and dance about me having to pay a cosmic penance for my past crimes, or how one day I found personal redemption in believing in a higher power and how I was granted the ability to make things better for those who truly deserve it. Nah...it's all of that, and none of that, and nothing you're ready to see. I could try to tell you how the universe works, how it _really_ works, and you wouldn't get it. So let me explain it in a way you _will_ understand. The only way you can actually accept it."

"Yah-huh. Go on. No really, this is all fascinating, really." Chloe said in an exaggerated monotone, capped off with a fake yawn.

Frank ignored her again and said, "You and me, our fates were bound. Shit happened to you, shit happened to me, shit happened to the both of us. We shared things. Things like a woman, and her mother."

Chloe paused, frozen. Eight years had gone by, and not once did it ever occur to her that Frank was the only other person who knew the truth about Sera.

"Relax," Frank said. "I never said anything to her. I mean, believe me, she asked me more than once, if I knew anything. But I knew damn well what Sera wanted for her kid. Same as you did. Rachel...she went to her grave never knowing."

A long silence passed, as they locked eyes and quietly shared in the bond that linked the two of them across existence.

 _Huh. Asshole. Fuck you for being right._

Frank continued, "So now here we are: you - " he jabbed a finger in her direction, "quietly playing Nick Cage's role in _Leaving Las Vegas_ _ **,**_ me - well. Eating beans here in the fucking Diner at the corner of Everything and Nowhere. I think we could both do better for ourselves, don't you? Funny thing about it is, I know people out here. If you can call them 'people'. And I can get things done." At this, he indicated the cash still clenched in his fist. "But I can't do a damn thing for myself. Not for what I want, what _really_ matters for me."

He stopped for a few seconds, tapping out a cigarette from a crushed carton. He quickly flipped it between his lips and lit it with a flame that rose up from his fingertip, in one smooth motion. Taking a deep drag, the smoke bled out from his nose and mouth as he exhaled, curling around his head as if it were a serpent with a mind of its own.

"But if I help you, if I give you a way to go back and make it better? Go and save someone you love - it doesn't just change life for you. Can't guarantee that the butterfly effect will go all trickle-down for me but shit, I like the odds. Like the odds a whole hell of a lot."

The longer Chloe sat here, breathing in the stale, metallic air while trying to ignore the incessant, insectoid droning in the background, the more she had to wonder if this wasn't for real. All of it. That Frank, or some spirit or demon or whatever wearing his face, was actually here, and offering her a... well what precisely _was_ he offering?

"You make it sound like time travel or some shit. Like, going back to the past and making things different." Chloe said.

"Actually, yeah. That's it. Got it in one. You're pretty smart for such a dumbshit," he mumbled around the cigarette. With that, he started to shake the money his hand back and forth. "Let's see," he softly muttered. "Let's see... if I remember... how to do... down the road... carry the four... ah yeah... yeahyeahyeah... and then if I... right. And he owes me a favor, and I can pay her back in a decade or two. Yeah. Okay. Got it."

Holding he hand out in front of Pompidou, Frank turned to him and said, "You gotta do that thing that you do, buddy."

Looking back at Frank's hand, and then up at his face with an intelligence far beyond that of a normal canine, Pompidou gave a single, sharp bark.

"Hey, I'm not asking you to like it, but that's how it works. We each gotta chip in."

"Bark!"

"Okay. Sure. there's that. But then there's also you just being a pal and making this happen." He leaned in close, and gave him a measured, knowing tone as he said, "You know…. what's at stake here."

"Bark! Bark bark!"

Frank rolled his eyes upward, then looked back at Pompidou with a mixture of surprisingly gentle patience and curious desperation. "Yes. Of course. That's a profoundly cogent and well-thought out counter-argument, and I give you props for summing it up in such a tidy and succinct fashion. Look, I'm not gonna argue that you're not the brains of this outfit here, but consider it like this: you really wanna have to go back to…. you know? And keep on doing the... things? All the shit we have to do now? Back Outside? Hanging around in the parking lot, for Forever and a day?! Or you wanna roll them bones on what I think's a pretty solid bet here? Seriously, what do you really have to lose at this point?"

Chloe tilted her head as she watched the conversation play out. It was unnerving, the way Frank's mutt purposely turned his head in her direction, studying her for a good few seconds. Ultimately, Pompidou turned back, giving a final, softer bark.

"Yeah! That's what I'm talking about! We're in business now, buddy!" Frank scruffed his canine companion behind the ears with gusto.

With a resigned air about him, Pompidou gave Frank's clenched fist a few tentative licks. There was a shift in the air. Chloe couldn't understand what was going on, but she knew that Something Happened. Something Changed.

Frank opened his hand and tossed something onto the table. Gone was the cash; in its place was a familiar artifact from Chloe's past. She instinctively reached out to grab the silver chain necklace, the one strung through three empty brass bullet cartridges. A brief but intense memory of her dropping it into Max's coffin at the funeral, right before they hauled it off to be buried, flooded her mind.

"Holy shit. What is this, I mean, what is it really? What the fuck did you just actually give me?" Chloe asked, furious at having been handed such a pointed, tangible reminder of that terrible day.

"A chance, kid," Frank said. "A fighting chance! Three of 'em, actually. This is how it changes. This is your ticket to a better tomorrow. And mine, too."

Chloe stared intently at the necklace woven through her fingers. The way it glinted in the light, the sound the cartridges made as they quietly chimed when she moved her hand back and forth. It felt Real; it was possessed of a tangibility and power unlike anything else in this dream-realm. She didn't know what the hell was going on, but she knew that there was something special and profound about the object in her hand.

 _A chance to go back? Make things better? Take back shit I said or….say the things I didn't when I had the opportunity?_

"I get what you're thinking; I've seen that look in my own eyes, kid. Regret. Wondering what you coulda done differently, knowing then what you know now. That's what I just bought you - bought both of us. That thing'll take you back to any past moment in your life. Give you what time you need to make a change - take something back, say something different. Give a damn when you didn't, or don't give a fuck when you cared too much."

 _Bullshit. This is bullshit! Stupid dream, stupid fucking dream! Yeah, of course I want to take it back! I wanna make the past different, but this is impossible!_

Chloe couldn't believe it; there was far too much being thrown at her, far too fast. Credulity strained, and as the weight of her disbelief grew, she felt herself, saw herself rapidly fading, fainting and fainter, to the point of translucence.

"No!" Frank yelled out, a plea mingled with a primal roar. "Don't wake up! Jesus fucking Christ kid, I told you! Don't wake up! If you go now, all of this shit will be for nothing. Nothing!"

It was enough to shock Chloe back to her senses - or knock the sense out of her, depending on how one looked at it. She stared intently at Frank, who'd become even more pale with fright. It was a good minute before his breathing calmed, flooding with relief.

"Believe me this one time, okay? Just try it! What have you got to lose? You screw up, you got two more chances left - I mean, don't fucking waste a shot just to test it, but you see where I'm going with this?"

"Huh." Chloe couldn't argue with Frank's logic. If this really wasn't more than just a lucid dream brought on by consuming dangerous amounts of alcohol and marijuana, then why _shouldn't_ she play around with it? Go down the rabbit hole, see how far it took her?

 _Maybe it'll be good. Really great. Maybe I'll get lucky, and it'll be the best thing ever, and I'll never wake up. And in the real world, I'll just be some vegetable or dead, but I'll be in my own little happy dream forever…_

As suicidal and ludicrous as her thoughts had become, she couldn't deny the appeal. What did she really have waiting for her when she woke up? A massive hangover, covered in a puddle of her own vomit. Days and weeks and months and years of going through the motions, until the end came for her at last.

She'd been waiting for a change, that much was clear. Something different. And whatever this was right now? It fit the description to a T.

"Okay. Fine, sure. I'll give it a shot, but...why three chances? That seems pretty fucking arbitrary. Why not one, or five? Why not just let me keep trying until I finally say 'Hey, yeah, this is pretty awesome, let's stop here'."

Frank sighed heavily, and shook his head in rueful disappointment. "Fuck kid. Seriously? Why? Because the Universe doesn't work that way. There's rules and regulations and... and... because it's just the fucking way of the Universe, okay? It's the reason why all those fairy tales have weird ass restrictions that don't make any sense: home before midnight, don't look back over your shoulder before you get out of the underworld, guess my real motherfucking name! It's all part of a world mere mortal like us are only seeing the shadow of, because looking at it head on would make us crazy, or destroy us completely!"

He paused before chuckling, "Well, make _you_ crazy. I'm already too deep in this. You have no idea how long it's been for me, since I first got here. But yeah, three. Would you like to meet Three, and have Her explain it all to you? I mean the actual fucking Number Three. If you don't mind being crazy forever, I'm sure She would love to meet you. The past, present and future. The three legs of the stool. Yes, no, maybe." Frank grew more animated as he spoke; eyes widened, his voice rose in fervent intensity, and his hands became more animated as he continued.

"One, One only fucking sees Itself and nothing else, but It _is_ Everything. Two! A constant argument with Himself. He's both yes/no, hot/cold, do/don't. Two cancels Himself out. Nothing actually happens, there's no in-between until you meet Three; She is the infinite points between 0 and 1. She lets the other two think they run the show, but believe me: it's all Her."

Chloe blinked before rolling her eyes incredulously, "Holy. Christ. Just asked a fucking question, dude! Fine, I'll play your game. Either nothing will happen, in which case I throw this thing in your face and laugh forever before I go back to my crappy life, or it does and…" she stopped short.

"Shit, what do I do? What should I go back and change?"

Frank gave a grating laugh, before stubbing out the butt of one cigarette and lighting another. "You can really be an idiot, Price. Should be obvious to you. Natural as breathing. What's always haunted you. What's the one big regret you've always had? The biggest, the one that weighs more than all the rest put together? What were we _just_ talking about?"

"Huh. Really? You don't think going back and telling Rachel what happened would make shit worse?"

"No." Frank said, pointedly blowing smoke in her face.

Chloe coughed. She waved the smoke away and murmured, "Fine. It's something that we both had to deal with. Something that fucked us both over. Guess it _does_ make sense, kinda. Fine. Good a place to start as any."

"Great. So here's what you do: take one of those bullets, think about where you want to go. Then just... crush it, between your fingers."

"Really? You want me to crush brass with only my... you know what, why the fuck am I even arguing with this shit, it's only a dream."

Pinching one of the shells between her thumb and forefinger, Chloe held the image in her mind. Arcadia Bay Medical Center. May 2010. She tried to call up as many memories as she could of that day; the way she felt inside, the way the light looked coming out the windows, how the air smelled, how the room sounded. The memory burned so bright in her mind, etched in by the acidic power of her guilt.

The metal collapsed with the merest application of pressure, crumbling to dust.

Then she was gone.

Frank and Pompidou sat alone. Minutes seemed to pass into hours, as they waited.

Pompidou let out a low, keening whine.

"Huh. Yeah. I don't know, man. I was expecting it to change right away. Fuck, you know how this shit is. But it's not like we're going anywhere. Besides, we're only doing what we were hired to do, yeah? Don't worry... doubt they steered us wrong."

Pompidou rolled his eyes and whimpered, laying down on the booth bench.

Frank ordered another plate of beans as he settled in to wait.

* * *

" _So, we never actually escaped, did we?"_

 _Chloe feels a curious sense of lightheaded as she replies, "We've got time." There's an odd disconnection though. She feels alienated, increasingly depersonalized, as if someone else was starting to speak the words for her._

" _All the time in the world," Rachel weakly replies, before asking, "So...how did everything go?"_

 _Chloe pauses, and for a moment she finds it difficult to move - it's as if she's wearing a stranger's skin. She doesn't give it much thought, chalking it up to the heavy decision weighing on her heart. She's already made up her mind to tell Rachel a comforting lie; for her, she'll bear the shame of the truth._

 _She moves over to the chair next to the bed, leans in close and murmurs, "Rachel...I've got to tell you something." She opens her mouth, inhales to speak the words, and then…_

 _...then…_

Chloe snapped into place; her transition from the diner wasn't instantaneous, and for that she was grateful. It was more like getting a running start before jumping off the back of a truck - jarring, but less so than it could have been otherwise.

 _Oh fuck. Oh shit, it worked. I'm here! I mean, this can't be a dream anymore. This just feels too fucking real! There's no way that my brain could remember every detail so perfectly._

The antiseptic scent of the air, the solemn background hum of medical equipment, the splashes of purple light from the homemade planetarium. It had to be real, because it was so much more detailed than her imperfect memory could ever hope to recreate.

"Chloe?" Rachel asked with concern in her voice, rising up as much as her condition allowed.

Chloe glanced over to her, and felt an overwhelming surge of emotion flood from her chest. It took every ever ounce of effort not to gather her friend up in her arms and burst into tears of relief.

Here she was! Her angel! Her Rachel! Right next to her, just as real as she was.

 _Frank, I can't believe it….or whatever the hell that this is pretending to be Frank? This is hella amazing!_

Chloe swallowed hard, pulling her lips into a sad smile. She knew what she had to do; there would be no hesitation, no second-guessing. In her mind, there was no way that this couldn't have been the moment where it all went wrong. Everything in her life from this moment onward.

 _Makes sense, doesn't it? Karma and all that shit. Seriously, what kind of friend betrays her bestie, and doesn't tell the truth about something like this? This...this was a test and I failed it. Completely! Rachel's life with her Dad is a total fucking lie, and if the truth'll destroy it, it_ deserves _to be destroyed!_

"I'm... I'm fine." Chloe says, finding her voice before dropping her head down. "No. That's a lie. I'm not. Shit Rachel, this is going to be the hardest thing…"

"Chloe... I need to know. Whatever it is, please. I can take it... I need…"

They reached for each others hand, intertwining fingers. "I know," Chloe whispered. "I know. Rachel, I found your Mom. Sera. She was in town. But there's... there's a lot of... I don't know where to begin." She shook her head, closed her eyes, and put steel into her voice, lifting her head up, so that she could look her friend dead in the eyes.

"No. I know exactly where to begin. What your father did. Everything he went through to keep you two from meeting. And what he took away from her."

 _The words pour out. Chloe tries her best to keep the tone even, but her anger and indignation and fury rise to a fevered pitch. How could she possibly think about keeping any of this from Rachel? How could she consider covering for a man as sleazy and flawed as James Amber?_

 _Everything she says hits the mark with brutal force; Rachel is cut to the quick. Tears rush to her eyes. Her parents barge into the room to investigate the commotion, and Rachel yells at them to stay away, to get out._

" _I know what you did! I know what you did!" She repeats._

 _Chloe wraps her arms tightly around Rachel - trying to offer comfort, and more importantly, protection._

 _She fails to see the burning hatred in the other girl's eyes as she bores holes into her father and breaks his heart._

 _Chloe fails to appreciate what has been forever destroyed, in the name of truth and reconciliation._

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** Hey everyone, happy Sunday. Glad to see that a lot of folks are enjoying the story. It's been a rough week for me, as I really fucked my arm and neck up with some bad tendinitis and myofascial syndrome stuff. I'm starting to recover, enough to the point where I can at least take a little bit to write this note, but I'm actually a little worried about my fitness to return to work in another week. I guess we'll find out. I'm glad the story is all written though, I'd hate to not being able to continue writing it because of my recovery. Anyhow, a lot of you all have been really kind in favoriting and following the story, and sending reviews, and I know I have been shit about not following up, either in a timely fashion, or at all - I've always tried to thank people - but a lot of my work up to this point online has been done with voice-to-text dictation for the past few days.

While I've been recovering, I binge-devoured five seasons of this Australian women's prison drama called Wentworth. It's something my girlfriend got me into, and it is just fucking absolutely fantastic. It's like Orange Is The New Black meets Game of Thrones. I cannot recommend it highly enough, and it is right up there with Bojack Horseman in terms of quality.

Writing this story, I came to really adore crafting dialogue for Frank; **TomorrowHeart** tells me it was his favorite part of the story. I nearly clipped out the speech about "One/Two/Three" as being needlessly self-indulgent, but Tom encouraged me to keep it, as I recall, and I think it was the right move; it ended up resonating nicely with something that happens near the end.

As people who follow me on Twitter know, **Leosch** has kindly been taking time out of his busy life to heavy duty proofread, and I am astonished and amazed by his mastery of the English language (which he does not speak natively), and the laser-like focus he brings to fact checking details, such as the Trojan War bit. I had originally put down Chloe thinking it was a reference from the Iliad, but it turns out that the Iliad doesn't really mention Cassandra at all; something I should have remembered, although I last had Latin class almost 30 years ago. He caught shit like that, and it's amazing. He could go pro with this work if he wanted to.

Something I forgot to mention from Chapter 1: Jim/Doctor Dunsel's and Bhagczech are references to a couple of friends of mine who have made a major contribution to my life. I'm going to talk more about Jim in the notes for the last chapter of this story, for reasons that will become apparent.

And last but certainly not least, a big _**FUCKING HELLA THANK YOU**_ to two readers: **Truffalot** and...shit, I forget her handle here, but she's **RileyAgricola** on Twitter, though. Both of them made excessively generous donations via my KoFi account (details on my profile!). I am thrilled and humbled and blown away by their generosity. I will probably end up buying a nice dress/skirt or maybe some boots, and show it off on my KoFi profile someday. Hell, I should definitely get both of y'all to show up in a future story, at that.

Have a great week, everybody!


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

Chloe slowly roused from the darkness, feeling as if her entire being had been scattered to the four winds, and was only now coalescing anew. She awoke to an existence that felt increasingly pleasant the more she became aware of it.

She was somewhere warm and soft. Comfortable. Lying down on her side, obviously in bed; she'd been initially expecting to wake up from her dream lying on the carpet, or against the cold tile of the bathroom.

 _Huh. Must have managed to crawl back to bed. Awwww man. What a dream! What a fucking nightmare. Frank and his old mutt - fuck! I haven't thought about those guys in years.. And poor Rachel, that night I lied to her. Shit, I actually dreamed I went back and told her about her Mom, like I should have. I was so convinced it was real! I wanted it to be, so damn much._

 _Jesus Christ, people are right, maybe I oughta get a therapist or some shit. I'm clearly cracking up._

When she opened her eyes, she found herself in the bedroom of her condo in Las Vegas….

...but something was different.

Many somethings.

Different bed.

Different furniture.

Different artwork on the walls

...different...oh no, wait. Not all of it. Some things she recognized as belonging to her, but there were other possessions that she swore she never saw before. Posters of fantasy scenes featuring warrior women locked in mortal combat with ruthless beasts. Shelves brimming with books, not all of which she recognized. And strangest of all, it was tidy to a fault and well laid out, like someone put careful thought and effort into where each and every bit was placed.

 _Ho. Lee. Fuck! How drunk did I get last night?!_

Either Chloe suddenly acquired much better decorating skills and then, in the span of one night, purchased an entire bedroom set and moved it in, or…

"...mmmove over, baby. Gotta crash."

Someone gently pushed their way under the covers.

A female someone.

A familiar female someone.

"Steph?"

"Sorry if I woke you. Up all night on those last minute changes. Oh. My God" Steph gave a huge, deep yawn, before snuggling up possessively against Chloe's side. "Getting to know celebrities on a semi-personal-slash-professional basis is the worst. 'Cause...you're like friends, and they kinda respect your suggestions, but then you still gotta do All The Shit, 'cause really you're just an employee. But I get to call them by their first name. Anyhow, "It's Britney, Bitch" better be happy after all that, s'all I gotta say."

Chloe gasped, staying perfectly still as Steph pulled her in for a close hug and whispered, "All worth it though. Because I get to come home to you." Her mouth was then quickly claimed in a firm yet sleepy kiss.

 _The hell! How drunk_ DID _I get last night?!_

Suddenly, an intoxicating familiarity overtook her brain. An instinctive sense of rightness. That she'd done this a thousand times before, and hoped fervently to do it a million times more before she died. Steph knew how she liked to be kissed, and Chloe in turn knew how to kiss her back. She felt so incredible in her arms: safe and supported. She couldn't think of any other place she'd rather be.

There was a playful swat on her rear, and Steph murmured, "Mmmm. Noooooooo. Don't make me horny, Ms. Gingrich-Price. Too tired. Seriously, just wake me in the afternoon, 'kay. We can get an early dinner, 'n go to a show or somethin'. And then we come back here and you can gimme dessert." She closed her eyes, smiled mischievously, and Chloe felt herself being pushed out of the bed.

"Gogogo. Check on your shop or something. Pretend that Roy doesn't do all the real work. Get your sexy ass away from me so I can sleep."

Chloe laughed, feeling lightheaded. There was something in the back of her brain that was blooming. Like a flower, one with brilliant petals slowly unfurling; the more it revealed itself, the more everything felt Exactly The Way It Should Be.

Before she could walk out of the room, Steph grabbed her wrist and placed a kiss on her palm.

"I love you."

"I love you, too." Chloe whispered reflexively, with genuine emotion and intent.

Before she could consider the ramifications of what was going on, there was a loud *SNAP* that clicked in her head…

 _It's Stephanie Price-Gingrich. Her wife. Almost a whole year now, they've been married. The girl who was there for her, when Rachel left town, left her behind. The woman she chased after, when she graduated Blackwell. The one who followed her to Vegas, where they could both pursue their crazy dreams. She was her strength, her rock. The answer to the equation that was her life. Of course she loved her. She always had, ever since…_

By the time she finally managed to snap out of whatever strange fugue state overpowered her, Chloe found herself in the living room, sitting at the table and eating a bowl of cereal.

 _The fuck just happened?!_

Clearly she had no clue, but she knew that whatever was happening was real. The memories of the life she thought she knew warred with new ones that burst into life in vibrant color and clarity. What she thought what she knew was the Truth faded so slowly away; remembered still, but with the fading impact of a bad dream.

 _Oh God. Oh my fucking God! Did I actually do it?! Did I somehow get the power to go back in time and change history? So how come I'm still here in Vegas? Why am I married to Steph, why not….why not Rachel?_

Of course not Rachel. Why would she be? Not after...after…

 _What happened?_

There were still gaping holes in her mind. Vague outlines, like a pencil sketch waiting to be inked and colored. As Chloe glanced over at one of the bookshelves, a picture caught her eye. She rose to her feet and walked over to get a better look.

Before she focused on the picture, she was immediately shocked by her reflection in the glass. It was her, and yet...it wasn't. Gone was the punk hairdo, the black and blue spiky feathers and shaved sides. Her hair was longer, down to her shoulders, like how she used to wear it when she was younger. It was her natural blonde on top, but flowed out into a riot of rainbow-hued tendrils. It looked like a complicated dye-job, like something that might cost a good chunk of money to have a professional do.

But there was more to it than just the hair. She simply looked...better. Happier. Less haggard. No black circles under eyes that were no longer sunken in. This Chloe looked like someone who gave a damn about how she looked, because maybe she finally had a reason to. She glanced down at her body, and was clearly in better overall shape. A little more toned, a little less gaunt.

 _Wow. Look at you, Chloe!_

She reached up, touching the necklace hanging near her throat. Three bullet casings. One of which was somehow compressed, as if crushed between two powerful fingers.

 _Holy shit! It's true! It's fucking true! Frank's stupid plan actually worked!_

Before she could continue to gape in wonder at the changes in her appearance, her gaze was fully captured by the picture in the frame.

There she was, years ago. Half-smiling, half-glowering at the camera. Dressed up in a waitress uniform, and standing inside the Two Whales Diner…

 _...Rachel wasn't able to wait for her any longer. It was Chloe's fault, really. How could she expect the leonine beauty to hang around in Arcadia Bay after completely destroying her good opinion of the man who had been most important in her life? Especially after revealing the worst possible truth of all: that James Amber was a monster. A manipulator. Every bit as craven and selfish as her poor mother, her_ real _mother, was always accused of being._

 _At least, that's how Rachel saw it, after that night in the hospital._

 _They were all set, the two of them. To run away together and never look back. To say 'Fuck you later!' to Arcadia Bay with no regrets or sorrow. They could take anything the world threw at them, as long as they had each other._

 _But the damndest thing happened before they could escape._

" _Joyce broke her foot, okay?! It was a stupid accident. But David doesn't make enough on his own, and the two of 'em are almost bankrupt already. I can't just leave! I...I gotta help. Just long enough until she can work again, okay? Please? A few weeks. Can't you just wait a little longer?"_

" _I'm sorry, Chloe. But I can't. I've waited long enough! I can't spend another day in this town! Everything here reminds me of him! All I see are lies. Nothing but_ his _fucking lies. Look, you don't have to come with me. I'll go ahead and then you...you can just follow me. That'll work, right?"_

 _Rachel flashed her that smile, and Chloe knew she'd never be able to say no._

 _And in her heart of hearts, she knew this was the moment she'd lost Rachel forever._

" _Y-yeah. Yeah. I mean, it'll be better that way. You can get it all set up and ready for the both of us."_

" _That's right. Just...Chloe, I'm sorry to ask, but I need the truck. Only to borrow, I mean. I don't have any other way of getting out of town. You're coming back for it anyhow, right? Bet I'm making enough money in a few weeks, I can send you a plane ticket. Seriously, I've got at least two or three modeling agencies that want to meet with me!"_

" _It's really great, Rachel. You're right. Only bump in the road. I'm gonna get to you as soon as I can."_

" _I know you will." Rachel leaned in to kiss her._

 _On the cheek._

 _Chloe dutifully handed over the keys; she'd never been so aware of how glamoured she was by Rachel, nor how helpless to resist giving the other girl exactly what she wanted._

 _The next day, she reported for duty, temporarily taking over Joyce's position._

 _David glances down at the digital camera, then regards her with a smile: one filled with admiration and respect._

" _I know this is tough, Chloe. But I want you to know how proud your Mom and I are. And...uh. I guess I owe you an apology. She'd keep telling me that I wasn't seeing the best side of you, that I just needed to give it time. And the right challenge. Well, she was right. You could have run off with that friend of yours, but you're doing the right thing instead. I know you got this."_

 _Chloe gives a pained smile; she fucking hates that there's a part of her that agrees, that actually enjoys this weird, new respect she's managed to earn. She feels like the worst, a total sellout. Someone who's given up on all her dreams, just as she turned seventeen._

 _With a resigned sigh, she settles into her routine, shuffling through the days and lonely nights._

 _A couple weeks pass, and she repeats the same mantra she recites at each and every table._

" _Welcome to the Two Whales. What can I get you?"_

 _Steph and Mikey look up from the booth. "Oh! Hey Chloe. I heard you were working here now. Cool."_

 _Steph gives her a smile. It's the first thing that's buoyed her spirits since Rachel left._

Chloe almost dropped the picture as she came back to herself. She looked down at it again, and realized she remembered more and more of the past. The new and improved one, slowly absorbing but not yet completely erasing the old. It was one of the strangest sensations she'd ever experienced.

 _Oh God, that's right! Rachel lived in my house for a few months after she got out of the hospital, but finally left town. Mom broke her foot when she tripped on the hose in the backyard, after Rachel and me were using it. The diner offered to let me work in her place until she was better and…_

And then? The answers were there, so tantalizingly close, yet still out of reach. But it was only a matter of time. It was quickly becoming clear that the more she walked around the condo, the more she let her mind wander and reminisce, the more revelations of her new past would be gently unlocked.

 _Man, this is way better than that stupid Ashton Kutcher movie!_

Walking around the living room, Chloe started casually reaching out for objects as she waited for something to happen. When one minute passed into five without any fresh revelation, a knot of worry began blossoming in the pit of her stomach. On instinct she reached out towards a row of books on one of the nearby shelves, dragging her fingers upon the spines until she suddenly stopped at a well-worn copy of the 4th Edition Dungeons and Dragon's Player's Guide…

 _...Chloe clutches her new copy of the 4th Edition Dungeons and Dragons Player's Guide as she walks towards the table. It's a lovely day, the warm last gasps of the fading summer. She raises a hand towards Steph, Mikey, and some other brown-haired boy she doesn't recognize._

" _Chloe! You made it." Mikey calls out, clearly delighted by her return. They haven't played since their game in the hospital, when he was recovering._

 _The same time as Rachel._

" _Well, yeah. I mean, you nerds were the ones who invited me, right?" she says with a wink._

 _Steph smirks, making a softly harsh noise in the back of her throat. "Yeah, but we just did it to be nice. We didn't figure that Ms. Too-Cool-For-School would grace us with her presence._

 _If it were anyone else, Chloe might take offense, but she can see the twinkle in Steph's eye, the good-natured teasing. She'll never admit it, but the couple of times she played with the group, she enjoyed it. It took her mind off a terrible, trying time in her life, and now that she has practically no one and nothing left in it now, she could use all the friends and diversions she can get._

" _Well, that just goes to show you how awesome I am, letting you geeks hang around me, swimming in my wake like I'm a shark, and you're remoras._

" _Remoras actually attach to the underside of the shark's belly using a flat, suction-cup like disc on the top of their head. Much more efficient than trying to keep up."_

 _Chloe tilts her head as she observes the new kid._

 _She already isn't a fan._

" _Uh...who's this?"_

" _Oh! This is Warren!" Mikey enthuses. "He just started school this year. We totally hit it off the first day, he knows a lot of things. It's great having another player in the group." He pauses, then gives an embarrassed laugh, "Not that I wasn't hoping you'd come back. Actually, this'll be perfect. Three players and the DM? It's gonna be great!"_

 _Chloe slides onto one of the benches, giving Warren a single curt nod, before favoring Mikey with an affable and more authentic smile._

" _How's your brother doing?"_

" _Great! Drew just wrote me an e-mail yesterday. College sounds so cool, I can't wait. Oh! And my Dad found a new job! It doesn't pay a lot, but with Drew getting a full ride, he only needs to take care of just the two of us."_

 _Chloe purses her lips, twitching them together in thought briefly, before reaching out and playfully rubbing the top of Mikey's head. "Yeah well, as I've so recently learned, we gotta do what we gotta do to survive. Anyhow, that's awesome. Hella jazzed to hear it, you guys deserve a break." With that, she turns to Steph and slips her a character sheet for review._

" _Annnnnyhow...I got a copy of your nerd bible, read the rules, and put together something that should work. You said we should make level six characters, right?"_

" _Y….eeeeeah," Steph answers, clearly not expecting Chloe to have taken her advice to heart, but pleased all the same. "Honestly though, I just figured we'd find an excuse to bring Callimastia back."_

" _Hah! Yeah, she was fun, but that's all in the past. Now that I understand all the kick-ass hella cool shit you can get away with in this game, I made something a little more…" with this, Chloe spreads her hands out with a dramatic flourish, "Chlo-tastical! Behold!"_

 _Steph stares down at the sheet, then glances back up. In a monotone, she asks with disbelief, "Bard...arella?"_

" _Bardarella! A level six half-elf Bard from the Kingdom of Mhelodicah! With the pink mohawk…" she reaches over, pointing over proudly to the character portrait she illustrated on the sheet, "fashionable leather armor, and for my one magic item that you allow? A long-necked lute, with a minor electrical elemental spirit bound to it. Plus-one bonus to all bard-specific character class rolls, because of the way the magic amplifies my music."_

" _You...made a punk rocker," Steph pointedly states, seemingly unamused. "With an electric guitar."_

" _Your words, not mine, although now that you bring it up, she_ does _play a brash, aggressive new style of music that many of the simple villagers say has the energy and thunder of a rolling avalanche of rocks."_

" _I'm not calling her Bardarella, Chloe," Steph counters. Her faint smile belies her affected weary cynicism._

" _You all can call her anything you want, but she's only gonna answer to that name."_

" _I think she's really cool! I mean, Callimastia was cool too, but this is better! Because it's a character you made all by yourself," Mikey enthuses._

" _Wow. This is...you actually put this together correctly," Steph says. "I was expecting to find a screw up, or that you'd min-max like a total munchkin, since it's your first character, but despite the stupid name that I refuse to use, this is good. Well balanced, thematically fitting...kinda. You actually read the book. More to the point, you understood it."_

" _Hey, don't sound so hella surprised. This isn't like doing taxes. You should see the prep books I'm going through for taking the GED._ That's _actually a challenge. Almost."_

 _At this, Steph tilts her head, obviously impressed. "Look at you. Getting your shit together, Price. We'll make a total nerd of you yet."_

 _Chloe leans in and gives Steph a wry, mischievous wink, "Don't count on it."_

" _Can we start already?" Warren asks peevishly._

 _Wasting no time, Steph gets the group settled, clears her throat, and begins._

" _Okay...The Half-Elf-Formerly-Known-As-Bardarella. You're journeying down a well-trod country road which serves as the main highway between the Kingdom of Scorpalia and the Barony of Dukanthrax. Ahead lies a pair of fellow adventures, a human obviously clad in wizard robes, and a dragonkin fitted in plate mail. They're surrounded by highwaymen who've managed to catch them unawares. What do you do?"_

 _Chloe smiles, steeples her fingers, and murmurs, "Time for me to rock everyone's faces off."_

By the time the memory-vision faded, Chloe was sitting on the couch, smiling to herself as she reminisced, staring at the old character sheet that was crammed between the pages of her player's guide. Over the two years she faithfully played with the group, her bard grew in treasure, skill and experience, rising all the way up to level thirteen.

Everything was coming to Chloe...coming back for the first time. Flashes of memory softly exploded into life and cemented in her brain: hanging out and smoking with Steph after their game sessions were over; Mikey and Warren helping her prepare for her GED exam; Continuing to work at the diner, even after her Mom returned to work, in order to slowly build up her savings.

As lives go, it wasn't half bad.

Actually, it was pretty good.

She and Rachel talked a handful of times, but after a while, she stopped returning her emails and text messages.

Max never got back in touch with her, but Chloe eventually stopped trying. Or caring.

Well...caring as much.

About the two best friends, the ones who went away, who abandoned her.

It was hard to get close to people again after that. She couldn't help but wonder if she was cursed, if life wasn't playing a cruel prank on her. All of that came to a head in May of 2013, though. Near the end of Steph's senior year.

That's when both their lives changed. Forever.

"Okay," Chloe said to the empty room, "Can I take a break here or is this shit just going to keep…"

" _...going. I don't understand why, though? You let Mikey do it." Warren says, with a growing note of petulancy in his voice._

" _That's because it was a lower-level spell from version three; it wasn't gamebreaking, yo." Steph replies, her patience nearly worn down to a nub. "There's a reason why that game mechanic you wanna use didn't make it to version four. I can't believe we're still having this stupid conversation!"_

 _Chloe can practically hear the dice cracking in Steph's clenched fist. Though things with the group were usually more good than bad, there'd been a weird shift in the dynamic over the past few months. One would think that after two years of playing together, all the rough spots would be smooth as silk, but Warren, who was always kind of a rules-lawyery pill, was increasingly getting on everyone's nerves. Even Mikey, who was usually Warren's biggest defender, was getting tired of it._

 _If there was one thing Chloe learned after all this time, it was to simply tune this bullshit out when it was happening. She knew when to plead her case with Steph, and when to fall back. More importantly, over the years the years, she'd learned to trust and respect her friend's role as the Dungeon Master. Warren never did though, not all the way, and Chloe can't help but wonder if it's just a fucked up guy thing, or if he would be just as shitty to a male DM._

 _She flicks her gaze over to Mikey, giving him a sympathetic, knowing roll of her eyes. He and Warren usually got along, but they'd never become the absolute best of friends. Warren had a tendency to dominate and talk over the shy, soft-spoken young boy._

 _At least, he did until Chloe gave him some support and encouragement about standing his own ground._

" _Look, this isn't worth fighting about, Warren. C'mon man, this is the last game we're ever gonna play as the group. Win or lose, we told an epic story. Don't go making it weird," Mikey admonishes._

" _Yeah, yeah, I_ know _it's the last one, why do you think I'm trying to hard to make sure…"_

 _Chloe slips her earbuds back in, chooses a song on her phone, and waits until this is all over._

 _Another minute passes before a fist slams down on the table, drawing her immediate attention._

 _Steph's fist._

" _Fine Warren, fine! You want an 'epic ending'? Here it is, you shit: Little do any of you realize that the creature whose lair you've foolishly stumbled into is no mere black dragon, but is indeed Zaiju the Undying, a lich who has seen empires rise and crumble in but the merest breath of his unnatural lifespan. With hardly any effort expended, he breathes an acid upon you which no known magic or shield can repel." Steph leans in close, her eyes wide and wheeling with anger as she vents her fury upon Warren._

" _Flesh and sinew is flensed from your bones. All of you die horribly, and your only solace is that you never live to see the terror and destruction the Elder Wyrm, now awakened from centuries of slumber by your idiocy, wreaks upon the entire world. The. Fucking. End._

 _Chloe blinks. Mikey is stunned. Warren is red-faced, jaw hanging open._

 _But none of them are prepared for what happens next, least of all her._

" _Except you, Chloe." Steph says, with a much calmer, fonder tone of voice. "You survive, because...because you're cute. And you always brought pizza, and because you're so into this, and funny, and smart, and…"_

 _Chloe's cheeks are held between warm fingers. Warmer lips press against her own. Steph's kiss, while short, lacks nothing in emotional depth, and she's left stunned by the moment, with the taste of cherry lip shimmer spreading across the tip of her tongue._

" _See you, assholes." Steph exclaims, once she pulls back. Rising up, she grabs a notecard from behind her DM screen and drops it into Chloe's lap before running out of the student lounge._

 _None of them say a word for the better part of a minute._

" _What...what was that?! What the hell was that?" Warren demands._

 _Chloe flicks her eyes curiously down at the notecard, as Mikey asks, "What did Steph give you?"_

" _Oh. Huh. I guess if we defeated the dragon, there were a bunch of artifacts in his lootpile. I got a Wishbringer Stone. Oh….that sounds hella cool."_

" _Great! Yeah, so wish us back!" Warren says with glee._

 _Fixing a disbelieving look on the boy, Chloe mutters, "Seriously? Jesus Graham, I can't believe you're acting like the game's still going on. This is why no one really likes you. Christ." She looks over to Mikey, "I mean, she's our friend, and we ought to follow after her and apologize."_

 _Mikey gives her a pained smile._

" _I think she wants you to go after her. Just you. I'll catch up later."_

 _She thinks to protest, but the knowing look in Mikey's eyes, and the heat still on her lips makes her think better of it._

 _Rising to her feet, she says, "Okay, so Bardy wishes for the dragon-god to disappear forever and in his place, Elamon to be restored to life. The two of them celebrate with epic feasting and merriment, and share the treasure with all of the surrounding kingdoms. Elemon goes on to be a powerful, respected, and beloved Arch-Wizard of the Black Quartz College, and Bardarella retires to a private island paradise, surrounded by her own amazon entourage. The end."_

 _She walks out, quickly bumping fists with Mikey before departing, pointedly ignoring Warren's sniveling protests._

 _It doesn't take her long to catch up with Steph, curled up and looking miserable on a nearby campus bench. Chloe slides up next to her and smiles. She can't help but notice a palpable electricity between them. Was it always there? Maybe she didn't sense it until the kiss jarred something loose? It doesn't feel as surprising as it should._

" _Somehow, 'we should talk' and 'how're you doing' don't feel like it's gonna cut it here."_

 _Steph turns her head towards her, smiling shyly, her eyes wet with unshed tears._

"N-not how I wanted it to go. Years of stories all down the drain. Because I got angry."

 _Chloe leans in closer and says, "Okay, first, it's not all down the drain, because it's just a game in the end, and that should be way less important than treating people who are supposed to be your friends decently. Warren was being hella dickish, so forget him. And Mikey, Mikey knows. He wasn't really upset. Especially after I used the artifact card you gave me."_

" _Oh yeah?" Steph asks. "What did you do? Figured you'd just stop playing."_

 _She shrugs, "One dead dragon, one resurrected wizard, one still dead whatever jacked up, munchkiny multi-classed monstrosity Warren's character is supposed to be. It was a pretty good ending to a pretty awesome campaign."_

 _Steph laughs at this, tentatively reaching out with questing fingers for her hand. Chloe responds by threading her own through them._

" _Two years. Two and a half really, right? Gotta kinda wonder why you never said anything before."_

" _I always kinda wondered why_ you _never did." Steph pauses at this, and then shakes her head. "I mean, I knew you were hung up on Rachel, but I figured you'd get over that. But there was always...I don't know. Just this kind of 'thing' around you. Making you standoffish, sometimes when I would send signals. Did you even notice?"_

 _Chloe winces. She looks away, and shifts uncomfortably, wondering what to say._

 _The answer comes quickly, however._

" _Honestly? I...I really don't know. Maybe? Maybe I did but I didn't want to admit it. Steph, two of my best friends both up and hella left me...abandoned me, really. Right when I needed their support. Started to get where I thought I was cursed, you know?"_

Steph squeezes her hands and nods. "I...I know. I get it, I do. Rachel took your truck, and Max...God. I still can't believe she said goodbye to you in a tape recording, the day you buried your Dad."

 _Chloe breathes out hard. "Yeah. Took me a long time to get through that, especially because I already knew she was leaving. But I think maybe the reason she stayed away, didn't talk, is maybe...guilt? Like, she thought she didn't deserve being friends anymore, so she let it die off. Dunno. Sounds hella dumb, but I've had a lot of time to think about it. Being with you, and Mikey, and well, okay, not Warren, but being with the group gave me something to focus on. Friends to be with, something I really enjoyed doing. I gotta think I'd be a lot more angry at the world if I didn't take a chance, way back when. If I'd stayed a loner, instead of joining your D &D game."_

 _Steph regards her tenderly, but what joy is on her face quickly crumbles into pain._

"And here I am; just about to graduate and go off to college, and I...hit you with all this. Like oh fucking shit, I'm just about to abandon you. This is going to happen to you all over again. Chloe, I am so sor..."

 _Chloe laughs lightly, cutting Steph off, "Hey look, shit got crazy, emotions were all over the place, I'm not gonna hold you to anything."_

" _Oh God, shut up!" Steph says, half-laughing, half-shouting. "I like you, Chloe. I actually…"_

 _She swallows hard, unable to say the word. But the look in her eyes is all Chloe needs to understand._

" _Wow. Uh. Hah. Just. Wow. I don't know what to say."_

 _But then it all clicks into place for her._

 _Who was there for her, all those days and weekends? Who smoked up with her, and who talked on the phone with her, and who hung out with her, all those years? Who let her open up, and share with her, all those pains and fears, doubts and frustrations. Who read her journal entries to Max, and never judged her or laughed, or made her feel like a freak?_

 _Who gave her a shoulder to cry on, on the hardest days, when she missed her Dad. When she missed all of them?_

 _It was Steph Gingrich._

 _This wasn't an intense, all consuming, passionate relationship. Not like Max, her sister from another mister. Not like Rachel, her first semi-unrequited love, the girl she hardly knew in the end._

 _But Steph was simply there for her, the way a friend should be. She encouraged her, and supported her and…_

 _...she meant the world to her. Their relationship was a subtle but profound one. A natural, gradual evolution, one which finally reached a certain boiling point. A crossroads that required, demanded a response: whatcha gonna do now, girl?_

 _Chloe speaks with actions. She gathers Steph in her arms and pulls her impulsively into her lap. Their mouths meet, fitting together perfectly. Slow, tiny kisses give way the firmer, insistent ones. Tongues push past lips and entwine. Fingers tangle through handfuls of hair. When it's over, they're nuzzling noses, and ignoring the stares of occasional passers-by._

" _Chloe, wait...wait." Steph says as she pulls back. "I don't want this to be you just giving me what you think I want. Don't want us to somehow...I don't know, fall into bed together over the summer, and then we never talk. I want more." She swallows hard, letting tears finally fall. "I'm going away, and you're here finishing up your associate's degree, but I wanna try. You know, a long distance thing. Sounds stupid, and old fashioned and…"_

" _Yes," Chloe quickly breathes out._

" _See, I knew you'd agree."_

" _No, I mean yes. Yes, I wanna try. Too. I mean shit, you're going to UC Denver. I'm doing the coursework online, I could just as easily pick up and move along after you."_

 _This is clearly not the answer Steph was expecting. It leaves her stunned._

" _Oh God, Chloe. I don't want you doing anything crazy, just because we're suddenly kissing…"_

 _She shrugs, "It's crazy, but so what? What happens if I move and it doesn't work out between us? Oh noooo, I'm still in Denver, still in this awesome city in this awesome state that just fucking legalized weed! I'mma totally get me a job doing that shit! But hey...hey…" she starts to teasingly punctuate her words with playful kisses, "...what if it works? What if it works, and it's fucking awesome? Don't you get it? I tried to chase after Max, but she wouldn't stay in touch. Rachel fucking left me behind, when I couldn't leave town. But I'm free now, Steph. Mom and David are doing okay financially. I've got some money, and my GED, and….and I….I think it's time..."_

 _Part of her can't believe how quickly it's all coming together._

 _Part of her can't believe it took this long for her to finally acknowledge what was in front of her the whole time._

 _Steph Gingrich._

 _Her rock._

 _Her angel._

 _Maybe third time's the charm?_

 _Steph smiles brightly, as if in a daze._

" _So really? Just like that."_

She rises up, somehow managing to carry Steph in her arms, before twirling around in the grassy field.

" _Just like thaaaat….!"_

 _They fall over, laughing the whole time, not caring who noticed._

 _They spent each and every day of the summer break together: making plans and making out._

 _They wait until mid-August before having sex for the first time._

 _They both ignore the worried concerns both of their parents have, about 'acting impulsively' and how 'young love makes you do crazy things.'_

 _Chloe chases Steph all the way to Colorado, just like she promised._

 _And it's fucking great._

 _All of it._

* * *

 _ **A/N:** _Hi kids. I am still sloooooooooowly continuing to heal from my injury. The good news is that nothing needs surgery. The bad news is that, yes, this requires 4 to 6 weeks recover time. They think I'm ahead of the curve, and are going to try to put me back to work for the 22nd, but I feel that might be rushing it a little. On the other hand, I have a LOT of PT coming up next week, and that has helped significantly, especially the traction on my C7 vertebra; also, the company NP has a reputation for being strict, and denying people a return from FMLA status if she doesn't think they're ready for it yet. Sometimes it's nice to work for a more-just-incompetent-than-purely-evil non-profit corporation.

I have been deciding what to do with my Kofi money, and it's a toss up between a bunch of cute goth clothes on Wish, or a sit/stand desk, which would help my condition. Honestly though? Health should probably come before goth glam. As always, if you feel like contributing to Lyta's Rainy Day PVC Goth\Ergonomic Desk Fund, my Kofi link is on my profile page!

So this and chapter 5 are probably my favorite part of the story. I started off with Pricegrinch originally as a narrative device, but I've come to realize that I really enjoy the hell out of this ship.

Finally, **Leosch** proofed this shit today...ON HIS FUCKING BIRTHDAY! So Happy Birthday, man. You rock!

Also, Tom? Check your Gmail, bro. ;-D

Have a great weekend everyone!


	5. Chapter 5

Chloe instinctively panicked when she recovered her senses. Her mind was screaming at her that something was wrong. Extremely wrong. There was a tight weight around her head. Her vision was dimmed, her hearing muffled.

A horn blared behind her, followed by an angry voice.

"C'mon! Light's green, moron!"

She was on a motorcycle. A nice one from the look of it. A Japanese racing model with a fancy custom paint job that she suddenly recalled having personally designed and applied a few months earlier.

And then it struck her: she was wearing a helmet.

 _What the fucking fuck, universe?! What if I'd been_ driving _this thing when I came to? Woulda hella freaked and ended up in a crash!_

"But you didn't." the Universe silently teased in reply.

Gunning the engine, Chloe was pleased to see that she possessed the required muscle memory and reflexes to competently control the bike, despite the fact that from her original - and ever-shrinking - temporal perspective, she'd never ridden one before.

 _Where the hell am I going again? Huh, I'm on Fremont street. Really close to work. Didn't Steph say something about Roy? Like my boss Roy? Maybe?_

Deciding that it was best to go with the flow, she wove through traffic as she made her way to Container Park, casually glancing at landmarks she'd passed by a million times before, unable to shake the paradoxical sense of intimate familiarity that was mingling with her completely new perspective. Her eyes slid over towards the El Cortez, one of the oldest casino hotels still in operation.

She gazed overlong towards it, not sure why.

 _Focus, Chloe. You're literally a block and a half away now. Don't go having another flashback. You just need to…_

" _...run that by me again?"_ _Steph asks, blinking in sheer disbelief._

" _I...kinda...accidentally...sneaked out to the casino and won a million and a half dollars?"_

 _Even without the unexpected financial windfall, it'd been the best weekend of Chloe's life. She and Steph only recently took the leap of faith to pursue their joint careers in Las Vegas. Both had established respectable cred in New York City - Steph in stage management and show production, Chloe in tattooing and illustration - turning heads and gaining notice quickly after graduation._

" _Things seem to keep going our way," Chloe reasoned at the time. "We're young. We're adorable as fuck together and managed to stay a couple the whole time we were in college. We've been through a lot and we're obviously going to be together for the long haul. We've paid our dues hardcore, and our careers are looking bright. So let's do this, Steph! Yeah? Let's do this, and if it doesn't work out, we're going to be okay."_

 _Steph smirked, as the two of them discussed their future, in their tiny Brooklyn studio apartment. "So. Let's roll the dice, is what you're saying?" It worked on multiple levels: making an obvious Vegas pun, while tying in a tabletop geek joke._

 _Chloe swallowed, her hand reaching into her jacket pocket, fingers wrapping around the box inside. She'd been looking for the right time to do this, and tonight, discussing their concurrent job offers, it seemed as good as any._

" _Yeah. Roll the dice."_

 _Steph gave her a meaningful look, before beating Chloe to the punch._

" _Funny you should say that," she mused, before pulling out a small box of her own._

 _As one, they both held out their hands._

 _Their eyes locked._

 _Steph burst out into laughter._

" _Oh you bitch!" She leapt into Chloe's lap and threw her arms around her._

" _I'm as surprised as you, baby!" Chloe said in stunned disbelief. "I always thought I was the 'boy' in this relationship so…"_

 _Boxes were exchanged. Rings were placed on fingers. Deep, passionate kisses were enjoyed._

" _You are not 'the boy', by the way," Steph insisted. "Even if your heteronormativity is adorable on occasion."_

 _Chloe tilted her head and gave her a smouldering look._

" _I was definitely 'the boy' last night."_

 _It earned her a playful punch on the shoulder._

 _And now here they were, weeks later. A furious whirlwind of activity. A quickie wedding in one of Vegas' endless offerings of chapels. They'd dressed up as their respective D &D characters and wrote personal vows, pledging their love and eternal devotion. Their support and mutual respect. A 'proper' wedding for the family would be coming soon enough, but for now, this was their time._

 _Theirs alone._

 _Which brought them back to..._

" _I had a little money, I decided to try some gambling. I couldn't figure out blackjack, and the craps table kinda scared me, so I finally plopped down and started putting a few quarters into this fancy-looking slot machine."_

" _Yeah but….but...a million? And a half?! "_

 _Chloe blushes, then shrugs helplessly as she stammers out, "I-I don't get it either! It was just a two dollar bet. The people at the casino said it was one of their largest payouts in years! I mean, shit, baby. If I'm lucky enough to marry someone like you, I'm lucky enough to hit it big in Vegas."_

 _They both pause. Stare at each other, and start bursting out into laughter._

" _Holy shit, Chloe! That is such…such…"_

" _Suavity and charm?"_

" _Bullshit!"_

 _Steph wraps her arms around her new wife. They share another kiss._

" _Well," Steph murmurs. "I guess we can skip going to the bank to apply for a mortgage."_

" _I saw a pretty awesome looking condo complex a couple blocks down the road. Good stuff. Quarter-mill for a nice unit. Jogging track and gym on the roof. Even after Uncle Sam gets his cut, we'll have a lot of money left"_

 _Steph shifted around to straddle her hips, nodding once. "Fine. Let's go take a look...later."_

 _She pushes Chloe back onto the bed…_

"...holy shit! I'm rich?"

Chloe gasped, finding herself standing smack dab in the middle of the courtyard in Container Park, cup of coffee in hand. She blushed furiously, hoping that no one overheard her.

Or at least not too many people.

 _I mean, this is the stupid kind of thing people say in Vegas all the time, right?_

She took a sip, and was reassured as a familiar blend washed across her tongue.

 _At least the coffee at The Black Cup is still good._

She slowly meandered towards the rear of the complex, unsure of her current standing in what she assumed was her place of employment.

 _On the other hand, maybe I own the place._

Any lingering question was quickly laid to rest as her eyes beheld the black and pink painted caboose and boxcar. Gone was the stark, monochromatic paint job, along with the "Steel Rails" sign. In its place was an airbrushed armored valkyrie wielding a tattoo gun, and the words "Lady of Pain" written underneath.

Chloe immediately recognized the work; she'd know her illustration style anywhere.

 _Holy shit!_

"Good morning, my Lady. I hope the morning finds you well."

Craning her neck up, she glanced in the direction of the voice, finding Jim leaning against the railing upstairs at Doctor Dunsel's.

She waved back, smiled widely and said, "Hey Jim. Oh yeah. You know me. Living the dream."

"Hmmm. As are we all," he responded cryptically. "Should I have your usual order ready for lunch, then?"

"Oh hell yes!" she enthused, before bowing in appreciation and heading into the shop.

"Damn," she murmured. "Wonder what…"

" _...you have in mind then?" Chloe asks the older Nordic gentleman._

 _She knew who he was, of course. Roy Bjornsson was a living legend in the body art world. The whole damn point of her coming to Vegas was to make a name for herself, in the hopes that someday she'd be able to climb the ladder and work for him directly. Good fortune, however, saw fit to bring them together much sooner than she expected._

" _Honestly? I'm getting too old for this shit. The talent isn't what it used to be, out here. That, or I've gotten too damn cranky to work with. If I only had_ one _tattoo artist who was reliable - even for the last year or two - the situation would probably be different. Which brings us here together, Ms. Gingrich-Price. A friend of mine told me about your work. And your name's come up in the local paper...for obvious reasons. I'm looking to sell a controlling interest in this business, so I can get out and start enjoying my retirement; perhaps that might strike your fancy?"_

 _Chloe could hardly believe it. She wasn't even twenty-five yet, and already she was married to a talented and adoring wife, comfortably established in their lovely new home, driving a fancy new motorbike, and even after they promised themselves to put at least a quarter of what they won away for retirement, still had income to invest._

" _Um. Uh...I mean, I'll have to ask my wife, of course," Chloe said. She still got a giddy thrill, using the term. Saying the words._

" _But I have a few conditions."_

" _Hmmm," Roy rumbled skeptically in the back of his throat. "And they would be?"_

" _I want you to take me under your wing. Teach me what you know. Don't go easy on me, just because I'd kinda be...you know...the boss?"_

" _Ha! I wouldn't go easy on you no matter what. And I suppose, from what I've seen of your work so far, it'd be a worthwhile use of my time. What else?"_

" _Well, obviously I want you to hang around and manage things for a bit. I mean, I promise I'm going to do the research, take some classes, teach myself how to run the business, but I can't simply pick it up on day one."_

" _That is surprisingly wise insight for a woman of your youth and lack of business experience. Yeah, yeah, good."_

" _Oh! And if I_ am _gonna be the majority owner, I want to repaint the shop. And rename it."_

 _Roy paused. Steepled his fingers for a moment, and then sighed. "I suppose that would be your right. Just promise me it won't be something terrible, like a hackneyed pun…"_

"Wasn't expecting to see you today, Chloe," Roy said. Becoming increasingly used to the strange jaunts in perception, she nodded a couple times and murmured, "Don't think I was originally planning on it, but my wife had a late night, and apparently, I'm too damn sexy and tempting for her to keep me in the condo."

"Ha! Good, good. Glad you're here, actually. Raef called out at the last minute - fucking Raef - and we're falling behind. Why don't I pick up his appointments while you close out the books for the month? It'll be good practice, see if you were paying attention when we did it together last time."

Chloe gave him a thumbs up and a smile, choosing not to worry that she'd only taken one semester of accounting principals as part of her online college courses, back in her original timeline. Her faith in the universe bringing her up to speed as required was essentially unshakable at this point.

Except…

 _I wonder what happened to Frank? Or Max and Rachel? How come that hasn't come back to me yet? I mean Frank especially, the only reason I'm here is because he thought he'd have good luck too, if I got my life whipped into shape. Shit...so...okay so brain? Frank? Care to fill in the deets?_

Frank...still sold her the occasional baggie of weed during her final years in Arcadia Bay.

 _Well duh, that would be obvious. Nnnng! Try again!_

Frank...seemed okay the last time she saw him in June of 2013. It was a quick transaction.

 _C'mon!_

Frank...turned witness against the Prescotts after Nathan's death and Mark Jefferson's brutal beatdown at Max Caulfield's hands, as she struggled to escape their underground bunker. James Amber pursued the case with ruthless efficiency. Still smarting after his own daughter ran away from home, it was as if he took his grief and anger out personally on Arcadia Bay's wealthiest family.

 _What the fuck!? What was that, brain?! Where the hell did that come from?_

Chloe tripped and stumbled, nearly smashing through her office door before landing face down on the floor. Closing the door behind her, she started pacing around the tiny room, her heart pounding from the jolt of adrenaline.

"What do you mean, Nathan Prescott's death?!" Chloe hissed through her teeth, as she poked at her forehead accusingly. "What the hell happened to Max? Fucking tell me!"

Hoping that she could pull the same trick as before, she ran over to a small bookcase, which was crammed with accounting ledgers, business manuals, and local sanitation ordinances, until she suddenly pulled out a slim, hardbound coffee table book of artistic black and white photography.

Chloe held the book out at arms length and read the title.

"Sing This Corrosion: A Photographic Essay On America's Decay."

By Max Caulfield.

Chloe skimmed through the starkly monochromatic photos of crumbling urban infrastructure. Desperate rural poverty. Destitute people. A portrait of a country whose best years had come and gone. The details in all of the pictures were focused to be as sharp and unforgiving as a blade.

There was such bitterness, on each and every page.

Such loss of innocence.

 _Oh my God. Max. What happened…_

" _...what happened?" Steph asks._

 _It's Sunday morning in October. The thirteenth, to be exact. Chloe lays out on Steph's bed, holding out her tablet computer, staring at the news in disbelief._

" _Max Caulfield. And….and...seriously? Have you not seen the news yet?"_

 _Steph shakes her head, then accepts the tablet as Chloe hands it over._

 _After a couple of minutes, she says in a low, disbelieving voice:_

" _Holy. Fucking. Shit."_

 _Chloe can only nod in response._

" _I can't believe it. I mean...I mean I guess I always knew that Nathan was messed in the head. We all did. And I never saw why all the girls were creaming themselves over Mark Jefferson, but even I didn't think he was anything more than some old hipster who was most likely banging one of the seniors. But this? This shit?!"_

 _The two of them had been busy during the past few months, as they got settled into their new lives. It was actually a days old story that initially caught Chloe's attention, about the suicide of a student she vaguely remembered: Kate Marsh. Before the school could come to grips with that tragedy, an even greater one struck at the end of the week._

 _Some clever soul on social media would declare it "The Week of Black Hell". The label would stick for years._

 _Mark Jefferson and Nathan Prescott. Names that would live on in infamy, even in the "mass shooting of the week" culture of America. There was a gruesomeness to the crime. It wasn't enough that they were drugging young women and forcing them into participating in photo shoots, violating them, robbing them of their agency._

 _Kate had been a victim, and Jefferson and Prescott manipulated her - taking advantage of her depressed mental state brought on by a viral video posted by Victoria Chase - into committing suicide._

 _No one was sure whether the pair got greedy and careless, whether it had been their intention to go after both Max Caulfield and Victoria Chase as part of the "Everyday Heroes" contest. Victoria was the winner, but Max had been talked up as a very close second._

 _Neither was seen after the announcement was made at the End of the World dance party._

 _Victoria didn't survive, the victim of an overdose, same as Rachel. Max somehow managed to shake off the effects of the ketamine - probably because Nathan was too freaked out to give her a properly effective dose after having now killed two other girls; when Jefferson went to give her another injection, she took advantage of a loose knot in the ropes tying her up and attacked. She struck with a savage viciousness, the kind possessed by a girl in absolute fear of her life. She grabbed the nearest heavy object, an aluminum tripod, and lashed out wildly at both attackers._

 _Nathan was beaten to death. Her former teacher was put into a coma that lasted a week._

 _On Saturday morning, Max walked into the police station, still holding the tripod, refusing to let it go, its metal and rubber bracket covered in gore, her legs spattered in blood and viscera. She was missing her left eye; Jefferson managed to get in a slice with a scalpel before going down._

 _The legal battle afterwards was brutal. Out of grief and vengeance, Sean Prescott attempted to destroy Max and her family; it was only the angry pushback of the townspeople, led by a furious James Amber in his role as District Attorney, that kept him from succeeding._

 _Max was still forced to leave both school and city; she finished up her high school education in Seattle, moving on to San Francisco from there._

 _Chloe tried desperately to reach out to her, after falling silent for years. Begged Max to respond, to let her in, let her be a friend and comfort her. As before, Chloe's attempts were met with a few indifferent replies that eventually faded into silence. She tried not to let the experience haunt her, but for many months, she couldn't help but feel that this was somehow her fault; that if she'd stayed in Arcadia Bay, things would have been different._

 _But that would have meant not following after Steph, not being with her. Chloe had to learn to accept that she wasn't responsible for what happened to Max, as much as she wanted to blame herself. Steph was so kind, so patient with her, as she worked through her guilt._

 _In the end, it only strengthened their relationship and brought them closer together._

 _The last time Chloe saw Max, it was by complete happenstance. A few months ago, at a local art gallery. The Chases took the fledgling photographer under their wing and patronage, as a way of coping with the loss of their daughter. With their money and influence grafted to her natural talent, Max was making waves, and there was a promotional event for her new book._

 _Naturally, as a member of the Fremont business community, Chloe received an invitation._

 _And naturally, she went._

 _She wasn't sure whether she wanted to do this alone, or with Steph at her side; she was relieved when her wife didn't give her a choice, insisting on coming along with her, but promising to let her make initial contact by herself._

 _And now..._

 _...now Chloe's heart is pounding, as she stands in line, waiting to purchase an autographed copy of Max's book. She peers over, capturing a few glimpses of her former best friend, a girl - no, woman - she hadn't seen in almost a decade._

 _The change is startling. Max's hair is cut pixie short, the brown strands slicked back. Reminiscent of how Victoria used to wear it, only with an added further edge of coldness. Her clothing, while fashionable, consists largely of blacks and greys: a pair of leather pants, a dark grey turtleneck, with a black leather jacket over it. She doesn't appear to be much for social pleasantries, clearly forcing herself to engage in extended conversation with the more prominent members of the art community._

 _But it's the thin white scar across her left eye and cheek that stands out; the gaping socket filled in with a black glass marble._

 _A nervous chill runs down Chloe's spine, curdling in her stomach. The light, the optimism, the good-natured cheer? Everything that reminded Chloe of Max is gone in this woman, this stranger that bears her name and lives her life._

" _Who do I make this out to?" Max asks dispassionately, not even bothering to look up._

" _Chloe. Chloe Price," was all she could whisper._

 _A copy of Max's book is laid out on the table by a personal assistant, and Max began to reflexively sign, pausing halfway through. She looks up in disbelief. Color drains from her already pale skin, giving it a ghostly pallor._

" _Chloe? Oh my God. What...what are you doing here?!"_

 _Giving a nervous, overly wide smile, Chloe says, "I...live here. In Vegas. I own the tattoo shop a couple blocks down. Well, I own_ most _of it."_

 _Max nods slowly, as if in a daze. And suddenly, there it is._

 _The faintest flare of light. The smallest wisp of a smile pulling across her lips. Ancient gears turning in protest._

 _A stone cold heart that dares to beat, one more time._

" _That...that's great. I - uh - I mean. I didn't...um. Well I guess I didn't look….and." There's a half-laugh, a sound that Max has clearly forgotten how to properly make. "I mean...it's good to see you Chloe." She reaches out a few fingers tentatively, brushing them against her own.._

" _How are you? I'm...sorry. I didn't respond to your emails and texts and….it was a really bad time for me."_

" _I can barely imagine! Oh God, Max. I'm so sorry, what happened, what they did to you!" Chloe stops herself, not wanting to dig up painful memories of the past, instead focusing on the good of the present._

" _I'm great, though. Yeah, yeah. Really good. I came into some money, and I'm learning how to run my own business, and my wife is doing great, too! She's working on stage production for Britney Spears, believe it or not." She turns and waves over at Steph, standing discretely away in the corner._

" _Baby? Come over here! C'mon and say hi!"_

" _Wife?" Max asks incredulously._

 _And then it's gone._

 _The embers starting to burn in Max's remaining eye gutter out._

 _The cold returns, twice as chill as before._

 _Chloe never even sees it happen._

" _You must be Max. Chloe's told me so much about you, I practically feel like I know you already," Steph says, trying to be friendly and welcoming._

 _Max stares hard at them both for a few seconds, before looking back down at the book, and finishing up with an impersonal signature, grumbling out a "Nice to meet you" as she finishes. She holds the book out impatiently, waiting for Chloe to take it._

 _Chloe retrieves it, shocked and confused at the sudden turn in Max's demeanor. She ventures out a tentative, hopeful, "Hey, maybe we could get together for drinks, or a bite or something, after this?"_

 _Max turns away, and murmurs, "I don't think I'll have the time tonight."_

" _Oh? Later on maybe? Will you be around Vegas for a few days?" Steph offers._

" _Busy," Max all but hisses out through clenched jaws. "If you'll excuse me, I'm really busy."_

 _She turns her attention to the next person in line, completely shutting the pair out._

 _The next few weeks are maudlin ones for Chloe, as she desperately tries to figure out what she did wrong. How could she come so close to renewing a relationship with her oldest, dearest friend, only to have it all fall apart in a split second?_

 _She's forced to conclude that her friend died that night, years ago, in that terrible room. Whoever came out? Was someone else entirely._

"Holy fucking shit," Chloe breathed out in disbelief, as she found herself sitting at her desk, the book still open in her lap. Her fresh shock and emotional numbness warred with the sad acceptance of the Chloe from this timeline. The one who finally found a way to make a melancholic peace. The one who accepted that sometimes people lost precious things and never got them back.

"I can't believe I'm never going to talk to her again."

She started down at the book through tear-soaked eyes, then reached up to wipe them away. In one smooth motion, she opened a drawer in her desk and tossed the book in. She couldn't bring herself to put it back on the shelf.

 _But...but she's alive, right? That's gotta make it worth it. Maybe it's not the life she deserves, but she still has it. She's successful, the world is seeing her talent…_

 _...she didn't die bleeding out on the bathroom floor for the sake of some punk who didn't deserve her sacrifice!_

Chloe winced at the last thought, as it unexpectedly rose up from the depths of her brain.

"Not fair. It's not fucking fair," Chloe breathed out.

* * *

She tried to distract herself by spending the next couple hours going over the books, as Roy had suggested. To her surprise and relief, she felt the lessons she'd learned from him during this timeline seeping back into her brain, like liquid adhesive slowly filling in a cracked surface. She tried to put Max's fate out of her mind.

 _Shit. How long? How long until the Chloe I am now completely overwrites the Chloe I was? Am I gonna eventually forget there was even a time Max and Rachel were dead, where Steph and I aren't married?_

That chilling notion, that a 'death-of-self' potentially awaited her, was too much for Chloe to brush aside.

 _I'm wasting time. I need to find out what the hell happened to Rachel, while I still know to ask. Before I completely forget why I'm even here in the first place._

Pulling out her cell phone, she thumbed through her contacts. Most of the names she recognized, but there were a few that were completely unknown to her...at least at first. Friends made in college and in Vegas that she'd otherwise wouldn't have had the opportunity to know. Business associates, suppliers, the occasional customer. All the mundane trappings of the life she'd inherited.

Rachel's name was conspicuous by its absence. The unease Chloe was feeling at not being able to remember what happened to her intensified dramatically.

 _Shitshitshit. Okay. Alright. Look, this'll be easy. Her parents'll probably know. Right?_

James and Rose Amber's home number was also missing from her phone, but Chloe managed to remember it from the few times she needed to call Rachel at her house.

She dialed from her office phone, and after three or four rings, the line picked up.

"Hello?" a woman's voice flatly inquired.

"H-hey Mrs. Amber. Rose. Uh. It's Chloe Price."

There was a prolonged silence.

"Hello? You there?"

"I...wasn't ever expecting to hear from you again, Chloe. James certainly made it clear he never wanted you to contact our family again. Although...I suppose you must have heard about the divorce?"

A sudden flash of insight: James Amber threatening her once, maybe twice in voicemails. Half drunk, yelling at her after Rachel ran off. They'd given each other an extremely wide berth since that day. Chloe was painfully aware that at age seventeen, she'd made an extremely powerful enemy in the form of the District Attorney, and it was only the thought that Chloe might come forward, not only with her story, but with the voicemails he'd foolishly left behind that held together their years of stalemate.

Sometimes she joked to herself that the only reason she got into playing Dungeons and Dragons was because it kept her out of trouble, now that every cop in the city was watching her like a hawk.

"I...uh...that...yes?" Chloe decided to lie. "I'm...sorry. I'm really...sorry."

It felt lame, how the words fell flat.

 _Of course they got divorced. Holy shit, how could they not? You spent all that time agonizing about this shit. It's one of the reasons why you_ didn't _tell Rachel the first time!_

"Chloe," Rose began, with a hint of tenderness in her voice. "Don't blame yourself for this. You...you were so young. Put into such a terrible position. And Rachel...this is going to sound terrible, from the woman who raised her as her own, but she has a power, doesn't she? Much like her mother. You wanted to please her so badly...of course you told her the truth. And yes, I was angry at you at first. Furious, even. For a long time. But that was only until I realized I was angry at myself. I'd been supporting James for so long, keeping his secret...his _secrets_. Over the last two years, I think the only thing that kept us together was the hope that we'd reach her. We'd convince her to come home, and let us help her."

Rose swallowed back a hard lump of grief before continuing.

"The hardest thing a parent can ever come to grips with is realizing that their child has become a lost adult. Someone they won't ever be able to help until they finally acknowledge their problems, and want to _be_ helped."

There was something building; a pressure, right behind Chloe's eyes. She wasn't sure what was holding it back? Was the universe doing her a cruelty or a kindness? Was something inside her inherently unable to handle the pain of remembering?

"We...I...I mean. I still...haven't given up hope, Rose. You wouldn't happen to know where Rachel is these days, do you? Sorry to ask. You've got problems of your own right now."

"That's sweet. I appreciate you calling. The last time I heard from her was three months ago. Asking for more money, of course. I told her 'no' this time. I _made_ James tell her no. I tried to convince him that all we were doing was keeping her from facing up to her problems. Enabling her. Her...sickness. I tried to make him understand that maybe hitting rock bottom would be the best thing to happen to her. I _thought_ we agreed. But a month later, I accidentally discovered that he went behind my back and sent her cash anyhow. I'm afraid that was the last straw. The divorce was finalized last week. He didn't even try to fight it."

Chloe clutched at her stomach, guilt and anxiety roiling inside her pit.

"But you know Rachel; I imagine she'll revert to type, and come looking for you next, same as….oh...almost a year ago, wasn't it?"

The cracks in the dam of her brain were growing. She could almost hear it now, like a physical thing.

"I guess," Chloe breathed out. "I'll let you know how she's doing, if...when...she shows up."

Rose made an appreciative, motherly sound, before saying, "Dear? A piece of advice? Please...please don't let her drag you down with her. I know it's the hardest thing in the world, you probably feel so terribly responsible for what happened. You gave her so much: your friendship. Your loyalty. Hell, you gave her a truck, and put her up in that fancy rehab clinic for a week."

" _You did what?!"_

Steph's voice echoed in the halls of Chloe's mind.

" _We have money! She needs help! I know she wants to quit, I know…"_

" _But you didn't talk to me about it! You didn't ask. I'm your_ wife _, Chloe! We need to make these decisions together! You talked to me about buying the shop, but not fucking this?!"_

It was the first true, hard test of their marriage. Chloe ended up sleeping on the couch for almost three days before they reconciled. Steph forgave her, when she finally revealed, for the first time in years, exactly why Rachel Amber ran away from Arcadia Bay.

" _Oh, Chloe. Oh….fuck. God. Okay. I understand. I forgive you. You get this one mulligan. But you're not alone, okay? You can't do this on your own anymore. We're married. Your problems are mine, mine are yours. Please...don't ever do this again."_

She was so grateful when she was forgiven; she must have bawled her eyes out for a good ten minutes.

"Y-yeah. Hah. I'm...I really wanted it to take."

"I know. You give, and you keep giving, and you keep wanting to see the best in people, no matter how many times they put you down. Take advantage of you. Believe me when I say that in this, there are few others who will understand, the way I do."

Chloe desperately needed a drink. The physical need wasn't there, but the mental and emotional habit was making itself painfully present.

"Thanks. Means a lot to me. Sorry again, about what happened. I mean, with the divorce. I'll let you know what's up with Rachel, if I see her again."

"Thank you, dear. Believe me when I say that as sad as it looks, this really is for the best. As for Rachel? Please, just don't tell me too much? I don't think my heart could take it right now. Let me know if she's at least alive. That's all I can handle."

"I will. Um. Have a good one."

"Goodbye."

The line clicked dead.

Chloe rose up from her chair, and stumbled out of the office. There was a volcano ready to go off, and she didn't want to be in the shop when it did. Quickly reassuring Roy that she'd be back after lunch, she made her way to Captain Dunsel's.

"Rocket Fuel. Grape. ASAP. Please."

Jim gave her a curious glance.

"Never known you to be such an early drinker, my lady. Unless there's a cause for celebration. But you don't have that air of jubilance about you."

She shook her head and half laughed, "Oh fuck no. Hence the booze."

He didn't ask, and for that she was eternally grateful.

She was halfway through her second mug when she heard a voice that both chilled her and sent thrills up her spine.

"Hail Ariel, faithful companion!"

Chloe turned on the barstool, glancing over her shoulder towards Rachel.

The dam burst…

" _...doing great! Really….really great. I mean...it's up and down, you know. You have to work hard for what you want…"_

" _My Mom...I mean she wasn't really approachable at first. But you know me...I worked the old Amber charm and…"_

" _A few more bucks! Please, Chloe? I am close. So...so fucking close! It's for another set of headshots. That's all. I promise. I'm not just doing this for me anymore, I'm doing it for me and Mom!"_

" _What? Nothing. Nothing no. Mom's fine. She's….fine…"_

" _Help me. Oh God. It hurts so much. I need one more fix, that's it. I'm gonna kick after that, I swear. One last time…just a few bucks."_

The missing truth struck her with the force of a mental tsunami. Rachel turning up in her life, and then as suddenly departing. In and out, back and forth, with the inexorability of the tides. She always managed to find her, somehow. Arcadia Bay. Colorado. New York. Vegas. It didn't matter.

And Chloe always gave in. Always told herself that she was done with this shit. That this was the last time. And now? She was married now, she shouldn't be letting an old crush do this to her. Intellectually, she knew that Rachel probably didn't even see her as a friend anymore, more an exploitable resource.

But emotionally, in her heart, all she could do is see the blazing star, full of potential. The belle of the ball, the most popular girl at school. The Exalted One. She With The Brightest Future. Who was Chloe Price to deny the magnificence of Rachel Dawn Amber? After all, didn't she still bear responsibility for what happened? The path she sent Rachel down?

"S..so whatdya say, Chloe? I mean, I understand, you have every right to be pissed. But I'm ready now. This time. I mean it. I promise, I'm gonna be good. You'll see."

Chloe hadn't realized that the last few minutes slipped past, as her brain took in constant flashes from the past. Rachel was sitting next to her now, and she took her first long, hard look at her.

The years had not been kind.

Her cheeks and neck were gaunt, her skin sallow. The track marks were shamelessly visible, given the cut off shorts and tank top she wore. Her hair, once so proudly attended to and well kept, was stringy and greasy. The smell made it clear she'd not showered in days.

"I'm...not...I don't know, Rachel."

Chloe winced internally.

No.

No is what she should have said. But this was too new for her. She'd not had time to adjust to the reality. For her, here and now, the guilt was still too fresh, too new. She took a deep pull from her drink to try and steady her nerves.

Rachel sensed her indecision, her weakness. She leaned in, resting a hand slightly above her knee, and whispered, "It would really mean a lot to mean. You'd be saving me."

Chloe blinked. Her old friend was many things, but this blatant? This clumsy or this desperate? No. No way.

It was enough to jar her back to her senses.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Rachel doubled down, letting the hand slide teasingly upwards, "I'm making it clear how grateful I'd be. I mean, come on. You've only had one real girlfriend, and you married her? You can't tell me you aren't...curious." She leaned in, breath whispering against her ear, "I know how this works. I'm not gonna expect to get a shot like this again without giving up a little sweetness. Steph doesn't have to know. It's Vegas, after all."

In that moment of shock, half-drunk and reeling from too much sensory overload, Chloe felt herself sucked down into a mental back seat. The reigns slipped out of her hand, as she felt the Chloe, the one she was becoming, the one who belonged here, take over. The one who'd nearly lost her wife over a stupid decision. The one who saw ten thousand dollars slip away on a foolish gamble to help out a friend who clearly didn't want to be helped.

The one who'd had time to think about what needed to be done.

"No."

She reached down, pointedly removing Rachel's hand.

"Chloe," Rachel said, in a half desperate, half warning tone.

"No! Oh fucking God, do you not understand the letters N and O? What do you think's going to happen? You can just stroke my clit in public and I'll melt in your hands? That I'm gonna end up playing sugar mommy? Keep you as a side girl up in some flop further downtown? That I'll let you leech off me, pull me down, destroy me? Let you use me all up until I'm no longer any good to you?"

She drained the rest of her mug and then flung it hard towards a wall, where it smashed into pieces. Rising up, she pointed an accusatory finger into Rachel's bony sternum.

The Chloe-Of-Here-And-Now, unaccustomed to being drunk, let loose with both barrels. The Chloe-Of-Before could only watch helplessly.

"Get the fuck out of my life, Rachel Amber! You hear me? I did exactly what you wanted me to, back in the hospital! It's not my fault you ran away from home and fucked up your life! It's not my fault you ended up a junkie, just like your Mom! It's not my fault your parents got divorced, because your Dad is such a weak loser. Just like I was!"

Rachel sputtered as she futilely tried to get a word in edgewise, but Chloe would not be denied her moment.

"Go! Fucking go! I don't even care if you live or die anymore! I'm not gonna let a skank like you come between me and my life! Or my wife! Who, by the way, is a thousand times hotter and better than you ever were or could be! I'm done…"

Rachel was suddenly on her, clawing at her face like a rabid dog. Chloe felt nails draw blood against her cheek and forehead. She held out her hands, trying to fight back. The room spun, and she was vaguely aware of loud voices. Rough hands working to separate the two of them. Rachel twisted away from the waiters holding her back, reached into her handbag and extracted something.

Chloe held up her hands again in defense, catching a glint of metal…

"Hey kid. How's it going?"

She blinked at the rough, familiar gravel of Frank's voice. Shook her head back and forth, and felt her stomach heave at the sudden shift in location and position. One second, she was half-standing in Vegas; the next, she was back at the diner.

"What? Where...am? What's going on? Am I dead?"

"Hmmm?" Frank intoned through a full mouth of sausage. Chewing it down quickly, he said, "Huh? Fuck no. Jesus, Chloe. Relax. We're just checking in. Pom and I, we're curious how it was going. Peeking in a bit. Seems like you've got a pretty sweet life. Hot, adoring wife, a successful dream business, a fancy condo, money in the bank. Rachel and Max alive and kicking. Shit, seems like you rolled an eleven on the come-out. And word is, I'm doing okay too, better than before at any rate."

He shoved another sausage past his lips, chewed and swallowed, before saying, "But the shitty part of this thing we're doing, this bargain I made, is that you get the right of first refusal. You gotta have a chance to decide whether you want to lock this shit in, and live this life...or try again."

Frank gave her a roguish grin. "But you're gonna stay, right?"

Chloe's jaw dropped. Her eyes bugged out wide, unable to believe what she was hearing.

"Are you fucking...were you not paying attention? That was terrible! All that shit back there."

Frank shrugged, then glanced to his dog, "Dunno. Seemed awesome to me. Pom?"

Pompidou barked twice in rapid succession.

The older man nodded, "As always, your insights into this shit are both simplistically subtle, and startlingly profound. Have a sausage."

"How does that count as awesome? How does any of it fit the fucking textbook definition?"

"Really?" Frank droned. "Oh yeah. Terrible. Having a better relationship with your parents, and succeeding academically is the worst. The burden of actually finding and marrying your soulmate! The crushing, existential ennui of winning a million-plus dollars, and parlaying that into a successful career move." With a melodramatic flourish, he held the back of his hand against his forehead. "I think I'm gonna start bawling, 'cause I'm like twelve!"

Chloe crossed her arms and seethed as Frank mocked her. She glared back and said, "Okay. Yeah, maybe it started off good...pretty good. But...but how could I keep going on that way? How can I live knowing that Max is this scarred, angry bitch? And Rachel...Jesus fuck, did she pull a knife on me?"

"Yeah, but don't worry. It's safe for you to go back. At most, you end up with an badass scar on your shoulder. And a wife who surprises you by dressing up in a PVC nurses outfit the next week."

"That's not the point!"

"Wow, you're not nearly as gay as I thought you were, Price," Frank said with a derisive laugh.

"I'm responsible for making this shit right! And this shit...ain't right."

"Alright...I'm not a monster, kid. And believe it or not, I don't have a heart of stone. But are you seriously going to let this crap hold you back from what could be your best shot at a happy ending? Okay, sure, you and Max ain't talking, but she's alive, she's healthy, she's clearly making a name for herself. You weren't the one who kidnapped her, and you didn't make her kill one man and nearly cripple another in order to escape."

"Oh fuck!" Chloe hissed. Her cheeks burned with shame as she suddenly recalled Victoria's death during that incident. Not to mention Kate Marsh's suicide.

Frank ignored her and continued, "Max can always come around. You don't know what the future's gonna bring. Same for Rachel. All you know, misdemeanor assault and getting thrown in the city jail might be what finally turns her life around. Or not. But it could. Whether it does or not? That's not on you."

Chloe bowed her head. After a long, quiet moment, she asks, "What happens if I stay? Will I forget?"

"Whatdya mean?"

"Will I forget? That I had the power to fix this again. That the only reason the world is like this is because of me."

Frank took a large bite of toast before rolling his shoulders into a shrug. "Hmmm. Dunno. Maybe? Not like I know for certain, but if I had to bet, I'd probably put my money on 'yes', with a smaller side hedge on 'possibly not'."

That was what she was afraid of.

And now, she knew what she had to do. The happy home life and the financial success? She didn't deserve any of it. Not as long as it was still in her power to try again. To do better. If she let Frank put her back into that timeline, and let herself forget that it was in her power to make it better? What kind of monster would that make her?

How could the universe forgive her, if she didn't at least try?

As if reading her mind, Frank groaned.

"Ah no. Really, kid? Can we seriously not talk you out of this dumbass idea?"

She reached up for the necklace around her throat.

"There's no guarantee you'll do any better next time. Might even make it worse."

She lightly gripped the second bullet between her thumb and forefinger.

He held up his hands, as if pleading.

"If it was meeee...I'd take what you got and run. Leave the table. Quit while you're ahead. No...wait, c'mon, don't..."

She crushed the bullet with savage intent…

...and was gone.

Frank leaned forward, cupped his face in his hand, and gave a soft groan.

"Stupid….stupid...doesn't know when she's got a good thing. Starring her in the face, what a fucking….dipshit!"

"Bark! Bark bark!"

Frank tilted his head and gave his companion a curious glance.

"Really? Baudelaire, huh? Funny, I always thought Balzac said that. Hmph. Guess that's why you're the brains, Pom."

He grabbed a small plate and slid it in front of the dog.

"Have the rest. We're gonna be waiting a while. Some stupid shit you just gotta figure out for yourself. But...but it'll be okay, Pom. It'll be okay."

As Pompidou contentedly chomped away, Frank reached out to stroke the dog's back, as much to calm himself as his friend.

"Stupid fucking kid."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ Hey everyone! Thanks as always to **Leosch** for the proofing, and another special thanks to **TomorrowHeart,** because while chapters 4 and 5 were my favorite and easiest parts to write, I remember initially having a lot of difficulty figuring out how to work the logistics of the next couple of "attempts" Chloe makes, and bouncing ideas around with him was a huge help. 50 points to House **Lonesomebard** for somehow spotting after three other people missed the fact that I went from James to John halfway through.

Another huge thank you goes to Steven Korkowsky (SkorkWB on Twitter) for very kindly granting me permission to use his pixel image of Chloe playing grab-ass with Steph as a cover image for this story. Be sure to follow him and check his work out!

So I continue to heal. They told a couple weeks ago that I should expect to be out of work for a total of four weeks, and lo and behold, that's pretty how how it's working out. I'm just starting to turn the corner at the end of this week. Still sore, but living life more like before. Went out on a really lovely date with my girlfriend yesterday night, and that cheered me up immensely; any woman who can whip my butt in Galaga is a treasure to cling tight to! ;D.

I did end up using the KoFi money to buy a couple of sit-stand desk risers, one for work and one for home, so thank you once again to **RileyArgicola** and **Truffalot** for essentially making that happen for me. I even had a little left over for a cute PVC skirt, so both practical and gothy-impractical sides in my head got a little treat.

Thank you so much to all the people following and favoriting this and others of my stories. I used to be so good about thanking each and every person when that happened, but my condition makes that impractical at the moment. Just know it is all appreciated!

Have a wonderful weekend!


	6. Chapter 6

_Chloe stares up at the ceiling as she lets a lungful of smoke bleed out past her lips._

 _She's bored. And lonely. And maybe a little bit angry._

 _Today was supposed to be 'hang time' with Rachel. Emphasis on 'was', because late last night, she got a call. Something came up. Something important. Maybe the start of something big. A way out._

 _That was how Rachel spun it, how she sold it to her._

 _Chloe tries not to be jealous. But she's not a fool, either. After three years, their relationship was slowly but surely changing. They're still close, of course, but spending less time together than in the past. Rachel was heading off on her own now and then; worse yet, she was being evasive as to where, why, and with whom._

 _Heaving a heavy sigh, Chloe wonders what to do, how to save the relationship between them. Assuming things even need saving? Maybe she needs to trust her companion more, maybe everything she's doing right now absolutely_ is _about securing a totally awesome new future._

 _For the both of them._

 _Together._

" _Betcha if I told her the truth back in the hospital, we would have run off together. Like...that night."_

 _Whoa. Where did that come from._

 _Chloe hasn't thought of that night for over a year. She's certain she'd managed to make some sort of grudging peace with the lie-by-omission Sera convinced her to go along with._

 _She sits up, a weird sense of depersonalization creeping over her. She stares accusingly at the joint in her hand and stubs it out, wondering if this new batch of weed was laced with something._

 _Why is she thinking about this again?_

" _Hella. Yeah. It woulda been better. I probably made a mistake."_

 _Suddenly, she's seized by a sense of...wrongness. That telling the truth was the worst thing she could have done. For better or for worse, Sera was right. This was the better path. But it still wasn't as good as it should be._

 _Chloe is certain of that much. Her head grows light, vision swims, and she feels a wave of panic rising. Wonders if she's about to completely trip out. She looks at her cell phone, and reaches out for it instinctively. She ought to call Rachel, if just so her friend could talk her down!_

Chloe glanced at the phone, fingertip hovering over the dial button. It didn't take her long to figure out where and when she was. Glancing down at the display, she groaned in dismay.

 _Last thing I remember was being in the diner with Frank. Using up my second chance! I was so pissed, I just...I just wanted to go somewhere in time where I didn't tell Rachel the truth, but I could still save her from being killed!_

Technically, her wish was granted. It was now the early afternoon, April 2013. On the day Rachel would die of an overdose.

"Shit!" Chloe hissed out. "Thanks Universe! Thanks a fucking lot, could you cut it any closer?!"

She felt the Universe smile mockingly from behind the scenes, voicelessly breathing out that she should have taken the time to plot out her wish, should have been more specific about exactly what she wanted to do and where she wanted to be.

But there was still a chance. Chloe called Rachel up, not wanting to deliver the warning by text alone.

The other end picked up after multiple rings.

"Uh. Hey...Chloe. What's up?"

"Rachel, ummm. Sorry to bother you. I know you've got big plans today. I...shit. Look, I know where you're going, okay? Mark Jefferson offered to take you to a studio, make you a professional portfolio. Or something like that. Right?"

Rachel didn't immediately answer. Chloe could only imagine how shocked she must have been, that she'd been found out.

"What the shit? Jesus, Chloe. Have you been going around spying on me?"

"No! Look, it's just...I…," she paused for a moment, trying to come up with a convincing lie.

 _Certainly wouldn't be the first one I've told her._

"Jefferson was at the diner, and I overheard him talking about it, okay? That's how. But look, I'm just...don't go? Okay? Please. Don't. I've heard some shit about him from a few people. That he does things...he takes advantage of the girls he lures in. You...you wouldn't be the first."

Rachel's voice was tight and even as she asked, "So who told you this stuff? Anyone I know?"

Chloe blinked, and cursed herself silently.

 _Shit! What the fuck, I really should have taken a few minutes to come up with a better story. Gah! I suck at this!_

"I...I can't say, Rachel. I'm sorry, I wish I could, but it was some shit told me me privately. I just don't want you to get hurt, okay! I know you think this is your ticket to the big time...and...and you know I believe in you. I _want_ you to get there. But not with this guy, okay?! Just give me some time to get the truck working again. I just need the money to fix it up. I'll get it...from somewhere. I swear!"

 _Oh shit, that's right. That's why she was doing this. My old truck broke down and we couldn't go anywhere. Wow, I kinda forgot about that. Jeeze, it's almost like I'm pulling up old memories like they're totally hella fresh!_

"Chloe, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear any of this. I don't know what the hell has gotten into you. This...this isn't like you."

"I...just," Chloe lamely offered, suddenly feeling defeated and helpless. Desperately, she fished around in her brain, trying to find a magic bullet; some argument or phrase she could use to save the day.

To save Rachel Amber.

"Please. Just...don't. Or at least let me come with you, okay? C'mon, think about it. You're gonna let some older dude, a fucking school teacher, put you in a position like this? You think he only wants to help out a student? He...he wants more than that, Rachel. You know it."

Chloe could feel Rachel silently smouldering on the other end of the line, and immediately regretted what she said. What she implied, about what her best friend was doing.

 _I mean...shit. I never knew. Not for real, not for certain. Maybe she wasn't using him, or letting herself be used. Maybe she was so desperate to help us out, and it all went wrong. Maybe I've got her figured all wrong!_

But she couldn't shake the memories of the Rachel she came across in Vegas. She'd seen her dark side; where her ambition and desire could take her, how they could be weaponized.

"I'm...I'm sorry," Chloe offered, trying to salvage the situation.

"Hanging up now," Rachel said, clearly speaking through clenched teeth.

"Rachel, wait!"

The call dropped.

Chloe growled out in frustration. Against her better judgment, she tried to call again, then sent several desperate texts, all of which went unanswered.

She flopped back hard against the bed and cried out, "Jesus Fucking Christ! You are such an idiot Chloe! You fucked this shit all up! Now you're gonna have to waste your last chance if you wanna take another shot at this. Stupid...stupid!"

If only she could get someone else to help. Someone who'd actually have the power to do something about it.

Rachel's father? No. Things were always a little distant and weird between them. Not unpleasant, but he wasn't inclined to believe her on this. Rachel would easily manipulate him into dropping the issue, convince him that Chloe was just being a crazy, jealous bitch.

David? No. While they'd managed to bury the hatchet, and got along pretty good in 2018, the two of them were still passive aggressively needling each other in 2013. He'd be suspicious of her, think she was trying to pull a gag on him.

 _Only because this is_ exactly _the sort of thing I'd do, back when I was 19._

Okay, so what about…?

 _The cops! I totally know where there's gonna be a crime. If I can just convince the police that they need to go save her and...wait! Waitwaitwait. I gotta play this cool. Have to be creative. I can't just tell them anonymously, I have to give them a reason they can't ignore. Like...like_ I'm _the one who's been kidnapped._

Chloe's fingers trembled as she dialed 911, thumb pausing over the send button. She made herself slow down, and collected herself. She needed to be in the right frame of mind to pull this off. She needed to get her story straight.

After a minute or two, she finally placed the call.

"911, what's your emergency?" an older woman's voice answered.

"Hey! Hey hey, help!" Chloe began, trying to muster every ounce of genuine emotion her limited acting abilities could summon. "It's Chloe Price. Look, I don't know what the hell is happening, but please! You guys have to help me! I've been fucking kidnapped!"

There was a pause on the line. Chloe felt her heart sink; she still remembered how much the cops disliked her. It was a small town, people tended to judge, and Chloe's name was akin to 'trouble' during this part of her life.

"Alright. Calm down, Chloe. Just tell me what's going on."

"I don't know, okay! I was at a party last night, and okay, yeah, maybe I was a little drunk, but all I know is that I got jumped, and someone drugged me. Like seriously, for real, stuck a needle in my neck and injected me and shit! I barely remember what happened after that, except I know they put me in the trunk of a car. And I remember hearing voices! One of them...one of them sounded like Nathan. Nathan Prescott."

Another pause, and Chloe wondered if she'd pushed her luck too far.

 _Fuck! Fuck I should have said Mark Jefferson. The cops might not have bought it either, but they wouldn't be as scared of him as they were of Nathan's dad. Shit! I wish I could take that one back. Just rewind time and…_

"Okay Chloe. Where are you now? What can you tell me?" The operator kept her voice even and calm.

Chloe tapped her her forehead, desperately trying to recall what details she could, for an event that was five years past, from her perspective. The shot of adrenaline, at how close she was to completely screwing it all up gave her the clarity she required.

"I don't know exactly, okay! I'm...I'm in some kinda bunker, okay? Like a bomb shelter or some shit. And uh….uhhh….There were woods! I think I'm in the woods somewhere. I kinda played limp, but I remember opening my eyes enough and seeing a barn. Wherever this place is, it's under that barn. I think I'm still in Arcadia Bay somewhere!"

"Hold on. I'm going to pull up your phone's GPS. We'll track you down."

Ice turning to blood in her veins it was all Chloe could due to keep from hanging up at that instant.

 _Oh hell! What the - could they do that back in 2013?! Oh shit, I forgot. Wait no, seriously? Yes, ahh!_

Chloe tried desperately to get into her phone setting menu in a frantic race to turn off the GPS chip before she could be tracked down. The angry tone of the operator made it clear that it was too late.

"Chloe Price! God damnit, I can see you're at your house. Did you really think you were going to get away with pulling a stunt like this? Young woman, this is too much! Making a fake 911 call is bad enough, but kidnapping? Accusing the _Prescotts_? Are you out of your mind?"

"I...ah….I...uh."

 _Shit!_

"For your stepfather's sake, I'm gonna pretend this call never happened - poor man doesn't need the kind of hell your childish stunt would bring down on him, not to mention your mother, but if you ever try anything like that ever again, I'm gonna remember you're a legal adult now. Believe me, your head is gonna fucking spin at how hard the hammer drops."

The line clicked dead before Chloe could say another word.

It was all she could do to keep from throwing the phone at the wall.

 _Stupid! Stupid, stupid...Chloe!_

She choked back a furious roar of frustration and anguish, rose up from the bed, paced the room, and then flopped down onto the floor.

"Shiiiiiiiit!" she screeched out, her voice reedy and thin as she tried to scream as quietly as possible.

She waited for the inevitable. For Frank to drag her back to the diner. She could hear the laughter ringing in her ears already, could picture the mocking, derisive sneer on his face.

 _Oh man. Fuuuuck me, he will never let me live this down. One amazing, incredible chance to change the past, and I fucked it up. Fucked it up twice!_

And now what was she gonna do? Spend her third and final chance doing this all over? Or try at a different period in time? What reasonable guarantee did she have that it wouldn't all go to hell again?

 _This dumb game feels totally rigged, yo. Like, no matter what choice I make, it's always going to result in the same thing: Rachel dies! What's the point? The universe wants Rachel dead? Why rub it in my face? Fuck you, Universe!_

Chloe waited. And waited. Waited some more. She was surprised to find herself still stuck in the past, and was impatient to get back to the diner, to get this cruel, stupid joke over with. Fuck Frank, fuck her, fuck all of this.

 _Still not convinced all of this isn't just a dream anyhow. Probably gonna wake up and feel like such a dumb bitch._

Nonetheless, she stubbornly remained in 2013. She tried to will herself to return, but nothing came of it. Eventually, it occurred to her to crush the third bullet, but it remained frustratingly solid and resistant. Just as well, she didn't think of what she would do with her remaining chance.

 _Maybe that's the key._

So what should she do? Was there something she needed to take care of? Was the Universe trying to throw her a bone? Rachel was going to die, no matter what. She couldn't remember exactly where Nathan's creepy rape chamber was, and by the time she tried to track it down on her own, it'd be way too late.

He was going to kill her. And then he'd kill Max, six months later.

 _Oh shit! Wait! Is that why I'm still here?! I can't save Rachel this time, but I can still do something about Max! I can still totally call her up, talk to her, try to...to...I don't know. Warn her?_

And how would that go?

 _Oh hi Max! How're you doing? No no, I totally don't mind you ghosting me for five years, I'm soooooo over that. Hey look, you're awesome, but shut up for a moment okay, because if you come back here to go to school, you're gonna get shot in the bathroom trying to save me from a rich psychotic asshole. No no, I'm totally fine, why do you ask?_

Yeah. If she wasn't smart or capable enough to save Rachel, what were the chances she could save Max?

Still…

"...it'd be really nice. To hear her voice. Talk to her one more time," Chloe said to herself. "Who else gets a chance like that?"

She could say goodbye, while she was still here in this timeline. Even if she didn't actually say the word.

 _I mean shit, Universe will probably make it so that she doesn't pick up. Or she does and then I flash forward to the present._

It didn't cost anything but a minute to try. She couldn't see why she should pass up the opportunity.

Sitting up, she bit her lip and dialed the number for Max's place in Seattle. Naturally, it was fresh in her mind, seeing as she still talked to the Caulfields every so often.

 _This isn't going to work. This isn't going to work._

Three rings became four. Chloe starting figuring out what she might say, if she left a message, when the phone picked up.

"Hello?"

Her heart skipped a beat. All those years later, and she still knew that voice!

 _Max!_

"H-hey. Max? Is that you? How are you?"

"Uh...yeah? Who is…wait. Chloe?"

"It's Chloe."

They'd both said the last word together. Paused, entangled as they were in their singular simpatico moment.

And suddenly, all was well in the world.

Just like that.

"Chloe. Wow...oh my God! Hi…"

"H-hi! Umm. It's good to hear your voice."

There was another pause. Chloe's heart sank a bit. She wondered if Max was about to make up an excuse. Brush her off, give her the cold shoulder.

"Y-yeah. Really good to hear yours too, Chloe. Uh. I-uh. You know, I've missed you. I know that probably sounds like a lie. I know I haven't been good. At all. You know, with keeping in touch?"

That was all it took.

The words between them started as a trickle. One that quickly swelled into a flood.

Minutes ticked away. An hour passed. Then another.

"...so sorry. I think part of the reason I kept staying away was the guilt. I still can't forgive myself for what I did. Telling you I was moving away, on the day of your Dad's funeral. By tape recording. I mean...ah God…"

"...s'okay. I knew. I knew the whole time."

"You gotta...holy shit, you gotta be kidding me."

"No. I didn't want to say anything else. We were having a nice day together, and I didn't wanna mess it up. I knew you would have told me. Eventually."

Chloe forgot how easy Max was to talk to; how much they shared in common. She found herself desperately wishing she'd had better news to convey. One of a better life. Something to make her friend proud. She was deflective at first, over the current state of her world, but eventually she realized it was best to come clean.

"...fucking kicked me out...but you know. It wasn't the end of the fucking world. But hey, a little birdy told me you got accepted, so now you can be awesome at BlackHELL for the both of us."

"...wait. What do you mean, I got accepted into Blackwell? I didn't even get the letter yet."

 _The hell?! It's almost the end of fucking April? What kind of shitty private school wouldn't have sent out the acceptance letter by now?!"_

"Oh! Uh...well. Yeah. I'm not supposed to know this. But Ye StepDouche works security there, and he kinda let something slip to my Mom, and my Mom kinda accidentally-on-purpose let it slip to me. Like...like she had this whole idea that it would give me the courage to try calling you again. I mean yeah, it worked but...but just act surprised when you finally do get it, okay?"

"Wow! Oh Chloe, this is amazing! I really had my heart set on Blackwell, too! Ever since I heard Mark Jefferson started teaching there."

"Whoa, hey. Yeah. Max? I gotta tell you something about that guy. Something really important?"

"What is it?"

Chloe took a deep, long breath through her nostrils.

 _God, please let her believe this next bit._

"That guys is a real creepazoid. Like, he seems cool, but then he gets really inappropriate with some of the senior girls. You know what I mean? Normally I wouldn't say rumor shit like that, especially 'cause I know how much this means to you, and how you might idolize the guy. So you believe me, right? I wouldn't just be shitty about it? I'm sorry but...you know...and he gets away with it too, because he's in tight with Nathan Prescott, so if anyone tries to say anything about it, he's protected."

After a few seconds silence, Max softly responded, "I don't believe it. Wow. Chloe, if anyone else, literally anyone but you said that to me...I don't know. I'd probably think they were full of it, or screwing around with me, or jealous of him. But of course I believe you, Chloe. I always have. I always will."

It felt so indescribably good to hear the words. Chloe's heart swelled with joy, matching the tears that were welling in her eyes. She'd never realized, until this moment, how badly she needed to know, beyond the shadow of any doubt, that Max still cared for her. Still loved her.

 _As best friends. Yeah. I mean...yeah._

"You're gonna be great! No matter what. Don't worry, Max, you're going to be amazing. I know it!"

"Th-thanks. It's really good to hear that, coming from you. Wow, Chloe, this has been so fantastic. I'm so happy you called…"

...and they continued to talk. In another fifteen minutes, plans were being made. Over the summer, they'd visit. Chloe would come to Max, or Max to her, but one way or the other, they were going to see each other before the school year began.

Chloe hoped that it would be enough, that putting enough suspicion of both Jefferson and Nathan into Max's mind would spare her the violent end coming her way.

 _Hell, with Max back in my life, I'm less likely to go nuts when Rachel dies….ugh that sounds so cold! But it's true. I probably won't get crazy into debt trying to find her. And if I don't owe Frank a zillion bucks, I won't end up having Nathan jamming a pistol into my gut._

Chloe might have lost one friend, but she'd saved another. And that had to mean something. For all that she sacrificed, trying to save Rachel _and_ Max, she needed to _make_ it meaningful.

Maybe Chloe would learn enough from her failures this trip, so that she could take he final chance and make everything perfect at last.

Chloe kept talking, not running out of things to say, and daring the Universe to ungracefully yank her back into the present. It was only another minute before something shifted.

A second call came through; a call from Rachel's cell phone.

 _Holy shit! The fuck? I think….what's the time? Wow, would Rachel even be alive? Oh my God, oh my God!_

"Max? H-hey, I'm really sorry to put you on hold, but a friend of mine is calling. I...uh...I haven't heard from her in a while and I was really worried about her. Like seriously worried about her still being alive. Can you give me just a few minutes?"

"Oh Chloe, do what you need to do! You can always call me back tomorrow."

Chloe found herself flummoxed; desperately unwilling to let the call end, treating the renewed rapport with her oldest, dearest friend like a fragile soap bubble, yet equally desirous to discover what the hell exactly was going on.

"No no! Just hold on. Give me a minute, three tops okay? I just gotta check in with her, that's all."

Before Max could protest, she put the first call on hold, and answered the second.

"Rachel?"

"Oh shit! Chloe! Chloe, thank God you picked up. Fuck! I'm sorry, okay! I'm sorry! I should have listened to you!"

"Whoa. Wait...wait. It's okay, it's cool. Slow down, alright? What happened?!"

Gulping big lungfuls of air, Rachel was clearly distraught, in a way Chloe had never previously witnessed.

 _Like someone who almost died…_

"It was Jefferson. You were right. He's a total creep. Worse! I mean...I'm sorry, I didn't want to believe it, but when you said something to me, I couldn't just ignore you. You're still my best friend. So I grabbed my can of mace, and brought it along."

"Wait. You have mace? Seriously, isn't that illegal?"

"Uh duh, DA's daughter? Who the hell do you think bought it for me when I turned 16?"

"Good point. Shit. So he tried to jump you?"

"He tried to distract me while Nathan Prescott snuck up from behind. Fucking asshole! If I wasn't paying attention and feeling tense and nervous after our phone call, he woulda gotten the drop on me. But I heard him, saw a reflection at the last second. Turned around and maced him before he could jab me in the neck with a motherfucking needle. A needle! Gets real fuzzy after that point. I think I managed to spray that asshole Jefferson too. Then I ran away. I flagged down a car and had them drive me home while I called my Dad."

Chloe breathed low. Her head swum. She couldn't believe her amazing fortune.

She did it.

She somehow did it. It mattered. It made a difference.

All the difference.

"And...and...did you call the cops or something, earlier tonight?"

"Uhhhh…..maybe?"

"Yeah, my Dad wants to talk to you sometime? I think."

"Oh shit…."

"No no no, it's all good!" Rachel reassured her. "I think he wants to know how you knew, but right now? Jesus Christ, it's like he's going to war! Everything is moving so fast. He's already called in a huge favor from the local magistrate and got a warrant. Word is the cops are about to crash Sean Prescott's place, and they already got Nathan to confess, and….oh God! It's so fucked up! I don't know everything, but I overheard Dad say something about how I'm not the first girl they did this to. Who the hell else is involved?!"

"Rachel...shit I'm so….I am such a stupid bitch to say this, but can I - uh - call you back? I have my friend Max on the phone and…."

She paused. And then groaned, unable to believe her incredible stupidity.

"Shit. No. I'm sorry, forget I said that. Of course you need me, of course. I'm gonna come right over, okay, and I'm not gonna leave you alone."

"Wow. Max? Max Caulfield Max? Is she on the other line?" Rachel softly inquired.

"Um. Yeahhhh. But I've been talking to her for hours, and she already said I should call her back tomorrow. You're what's important right now."

"Chloe, that's awesome. Amazing! You two are talking again. Finally. Hey, this is gonna sound weird, but can you conference her in?"

"What? Seriously?" Chloe asked incredulously.

"Yes. Deadly. I almost died, Chloe. Probably. I mean, who knows what the fuck was in that needle. I could use some normality right now. I know what this means to you; I want to share this moment with you. Please?"

How could she say no?

Chloe quickly thumbed the calls together into conference mode.

"Uh. Max? Still there?"

"Hi, of course I am! Everything okay?"

"Yes! Actually! Everything's good. Great! Uhhh...my friend Rachel is doing great. She's actually on the line with us."

"The famous Max Caulfield. Wow! You have no idea how much Chloe has told me about you," Rachel said. Her voice held volumes of bravado, a steely sure mask to hide the scared, vulnerable girl who'd narrowly escaped with her life. Clearly, it wouldn't fully hit her until later how her desperate dream-chasing nearly cost her everything.

"Um. Uh….hey." Max said shyly.

It was awkward. But only for the first minute or two. Even over the phone, Rachel had a charm, a magic that was hers to command, one that worked even over the vast distances bridged by mere photons and electrons. She easily won Max over with her good humor and intriguing personality.

By the evening's end, the three of them were plotting their first get-together.

Chloe didn't even notice the soft, subtle jerk of being recalled to the present until it was too late.

* * *

 _The Three Musketeers. That's what they call them, the kids at Blackwell. Max and Chloe and Rachel. Three sisters bound by fate. Granted only two of them are actually students at the school, but Chloe's star is suddenly on the rise; not only earning the undying and eternal gratitude of the city DA, but the newfound respect and admiration of her step-father as well. Principal Wells is unable to stand up to the scandal that envelops his administration, and the new headmistress that replaces him is positively inclined to look the other way, as long as Chloe behaves herself on school grounds._

 _Which she usually does._

 _Rachel goes away for part of the summer, and over that month and a half, Max and Chloe grow closer and closer still. Eventually, nature takes its course._

 _Their first kiss is shared the day before Max starts school._

 _Rachel is surprisingly cool with it. Almost eagerly so. She only wants Chloe to be happy, or so she constantly claims._

 _Regardless, the three of them are inseparable. Max quickly blossoms into a social butterfly under the tutelage of her two best friends, old and new. They are cooler than cool, above the petty games and cliques, beyond the stupidity of Victoria Chase and the Vortex Club._

 _And then that day in October. When disaster comes calling. Their good fortune rapidly running out at long last._

" _Fuck! My foot. My foot's stuck in the switch rail!" Chloe shouts, panic welling up in her chest._

 _Rachel desperately pulls at her arms, and then at her foot, trying to save her._

 _Their efforts are for naught._

 _The train is coming closer. The roar of the horn is practically deafening._

 _Max? Where was Max?_

" _Run! Just...RUN, Rachel!" Chloe screams. There's no reason they both have to die!_

 _Chloe turns to face the speeding metal wall that_ _delivers_ _her immediate demise._

 _Everything goes white._

* * *

Chloe could only see the white of the note clutched in her hands; ink on spiral bound notebook paper, smeared with a few tears.

Her tears, though she didn't immediately realize that.

She gasped sharply, looking up from her slumped position. The air was fetid and rank. The light of the setting sun tried desperately to push through the thick layer of grime coating the windows.

Chloe rose and stumbled to the bathroom; she was drunk. Not heavily, but enough to impair her coordination.

 _Why the fuck is the hallway so narrow? This house is hella tiny!_

She caught sight of herself in a full length mirror by the door; she looked awful. Gaunt, pale, little more than a walking skeleton. Skin clung to her bones through sheer stubbornness. Strands of greasy, dirty blonde hair writhed down her shoulders. She wasn't sure which was worse: the way she looked or how she smelled.

Making her way out the front door, she almost collapsed in the dust. Overhead, the unforgiving Nevada sun beat down, blazing even as it set. The Golden Hour light cast a stark, cold, surreal beauty over the tiny, hardscrabble community she lived in, an hour outside the Clark County line. She gazed in bewilderment at the squat, ugly box she apparently called home: a converted trailer set on a makeshift foundation.

A warm wind blew lazily through the playa, giving life to a twisted, haunted symphony of rusty wind chimes, metal debris, and loose gravel. There was a perverse melody to it, one that Chloe utterly failed to appreciate.

 _Desolation's End. That was the name of the place. Off in an unincorporated part of the county. Running water from an aquifer, a few ramshackle generators, and sewer hookups that led to a septic tank allowed for off the grid living. No one was particularly welcoming or neighborly. They all simply kept to themselves: a community of isolated loners, none of whom cared about anything or anyone else. It was the perfect place for her to come to, the most obvious destination after….after Max…_

Chloe's eyes fell upon the letter and read it for the first time, though she was immediately familiar with its contents. It was the same letter she read in the morning, and then again before bedtime, every day for the last year.

 **Dear Chloe,**

 **I'm sorry for repeating the same sin of the past. Leaving you with bare apologies in my wake, all because I didn't have the strength or the courage to say goodbye in person.**

 **But I am leaving you. I am so sorry. I can't do this. I can't live like this anymore.**

 **It's been four years. Four long, crushing, brutal years since that day, when we watched as Arcadia Bay died. You begged me to undo everything, to jump back to the moment where I took that picture of the three of us on the railroad tracks. Even if it meant that you and Rachel would die under the wheels of that speeding train.**

Chloe blinked. With trembling, aching legs, she forced herself over towards the cracked, plastic patio chair and sat down, as new and alien memories filled in the cracks in her recollection.

 _The day she and Rachel were supposed to die. But they didn't. That wasn't how she remembered it, not really. Max wasn't anywhere to be found, and then at the last second, the switch track kicked in. The two of them fell to the ground, missing the train by inches._

 _It was a miracle. A Godsend. But none of it compares to what Max shows them the next day at the diner._

" _Holy shit!" Rachel and Chloe exclaim as one._

" _No, seriously babe. How the hell did you pull that trick off?" Rachel demands._

 _Max shows them more. Once she correctly predicts each and every tiny little detail of the next half-minute, the two of them are genuflecting together at the table._

" _Fucking amazing!"_

" _Righteous!"_

" _Babe! Seriously, babydoll!" Chloe teases. "We gotta hit the casino. Like right fucking now!"_

 _And for a week, it seems like the world is their oyster. Max impresses. Max delights. The things they get away with, the tricks they pull..._

 _But the week grows ever darker. In the beginning, Max tries not to tell them about it. The car accident that nearly kills them all. The strange, increasingly sinister circumstances that befall them. The Universe is clearly angry. It wants what it was denied. And it leaves twisted wreckage in the wake of its wrath._

 _The snowstorm._

 _The beached whales._

 _The dead birds._

 _The unpredicted eclipse._

 _The dreams of terror and tornadoes. By the time they wonder what is actually happening, it's far too late. The end has come for them. In the final minutes, Chloe realizes what's at stake. What needs to be done. She begs for Max to go and take it all back…._

Chloe gasped hard, clutching at her chest, heart beating harder than her weakened, wizened system could take. Her hands shook as she continued to read by instinct, mind too overwhelmed to fully process what it had just witnessed.

 **But I couldn't do it. I'm sorry Chloe. I'm sorry a thousand times, but I loved you too much. I loved you both. I was weak. So fucking weak! All those people died because I couldn't do what you begged me to. Your parents, and Rachel's, and all our friends at school. I made you both leave Arcadia Bay with me because I couldn't stand to look into the faces of what few survivors were left. But we needed to move ahead. We needed to try and make a life for ourselves. Clearly, the Universe got what it wanted; my powers were gone.**

 **I've tried so hard to make amends. And I've struggled so long to build some kind of life for us. I stayed after Rachel ran off to LA because I knew I was always meant to be by your side. And for a while, we kind of made it work, didn't we? But I should have known it wouldn't last. I can't believe I let myself think things could ever be normal again. It's killing me watching you, how you're killing yourself. Day by day, bottle by bottle. You say you don't blame me, you say you understand, but then I see the way you look at me, when you're drunk, and you think I'm not paying attention. I see the real demon, coming out from behind the mask. The monster I created. The agent of my punishment.**

 **And so I'm taking the cowards way out. Again.**

 **But please understand: I'm doing this for you. You need to be free of me. You need to live your life. You need to be able to hate me, for what I've done.**

 **Hell, I'm begging you to hate me.**

 **I'm hoping it'll give you the strength to live. To push yourself back from the edge of the abyss that I** **'ve** **driven you to. So you can become a better person.**

 **Please believe me when I say I'm doing this for you. I need to do now what I couldn't do four years earlier: give you up. I am the worst person in the world for you.**

 **Please forgive me.**

 **Please forget me.**

 **I love you.**

 **Max.**

Chloe found herself doubled over with grief, sobbing despite herself. It hurt, how it fucking hurt! Rachel, who'd managed to 'make it' as a model in LA, came for Max in the middle of the night. She now worked as Rachel's primary photographer. And in her worst, deepest, darkest dreams, she only imaged what else they shared.

Chloe never found the strength to move on. She hated, she howled, she threw bottles. She climbed on top of her trailer and screamed her lungs raw at the moon, until the neighbors took potshots at her with their rifles, just to shut her up.

She would have welcomed a bullet between the eyes.

But this was her life now: a broken down wreck of a woman at age twenty-five. Living off disability, passing the time with alcohol and meth. Flashes of her many petty crimes, the filthy, self-loathing ways she sold herself for a little extra money.

It wouldn't be long now, the rate she was going. She'd never make it to thirty.

It amazed her, infuriated her, every day she woke up. Every night, she prayed that when she closed her eyes to sleep, it would be for the last time.

Why? Why was she so fucking scared, so weak and pathetic, to not end it all on her own terms?

This was going to be the day. Her last one. She figured it all out. One last look at the letter. One big shot of high grade heroin, the one she saved up for a couple months to afford. She'd go out in a comforting haze of velvet glory, leaving a twisted shell of a human body behind.

One last look at the letter, and then she'd do it. At least that was the plan until Chloe caught back up with her own timeline.

"Frank," Chloe begged.

"Frank," she rasped out anew. "End it. Please...fucking end this!"

The change in air pressure was stark and sudden. Chloe found herself hunched over a now familiar diner table, eyes still wet, her face clutched in her hands.

"Whoa. That was dark! And believe me, I know dark.," Frank chuckled unkindly. "But you? Niiiiiice." He started to slowly golf-clap. "I tip my hat to your obvious mastery of fucking shit up."

"Jesus Christ," Chloe hissed.

"Nope, nowhere to be found," Frank replied in a deadpan droll. He produced a cigarette, quickly lighting it with his fingertip, and then leaned back as he took a long draw. Smoke puffed out as he said, "Gotta hand it to you, kid. That was _way_ better than what you had going on last time around. You suuuuure showed me."

"Shut...shut up!" Chloe spat out.

"Nah, fuck you. You need to hear this. Tough love and shit," Frank retorted, though his voice held a curious edge of concern. "Especially seeing as you only got one last chance at this. I mean, don't get me wrong, I wanna see you get the happy ending and all, but it's not out of the goodness of my heart. Or did you forget that my ass is riding on this as well?"

"I didn't forget a fucking thing, Frank! I'm trying to make it right...but….but...what the actual fuck!? This stupid world is hella rigged! Did you see that bullshit back there? Max got time powers! Where did that bullshit come from, man?! All of the sudden, she's rewinding, and she's jumping through photos, and that's such a rip-off! If it weren't for the fact you keep telling me we're in on this together, I'd swear you were sabotaging me! What's the point of trying if the Universe is gonna mess shit up like that!? It's not fair!"

Chloe drew labored breaths, softly panting with indignation. Her mind was still reeling from her last attempt. What did it all mean? Why would Max have powers at all? Was it due to some link they shared? Did the fact the two of them became romantically involved have something to do with it.

 _And that's another thing...holy shit! Max! And me….and we were girlfriends! And we...we were so fucking in love._

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes, for what was so briefly had, and then lost. For a million searching feelings and unresolved questions that all at once snapped into crystal clarity. Why Max's sudden departure, and more to the point, her gradual indifference and disappearance from her life over five years hurt so deeply.

 _I was in love. Oh God, I was crushing so hard on my best friend, and I barely knew it! Well...duh fucking duh! Of course! It makes sense!_

A sound of glass sliding against vinyl broke Chloe's reverie. A small shot glass filled with an amber liquid. Without even questioning it, she picked it up and threw it back. Whiskey, a cheap, harsh blend at that, but it did the trick and steadied her nerves.

"Hah. Thought you needed that, after the shit you saw back there. And as for your question? Yeah well, I'm fucking pissed too, believe it or not!" Frank snarled. "I'm not a god, kid. I got access to a few useful things, I know how to cut deals and get things I need to go my way, but I'm not the only Operator trying to get ahead. Some asshole's obviously out there running their own con at the same time."

Chloe blinked, coughed once, and pushed the glass back. "What? Why?! That doesn't make any sense, who would do that? What's the point? Are they trying to stop me? Stop us? What's going on here, Frank?!"

Frank held up his hands in exasperation. "Dial it back! Jesus. I don't know, alright? Believe me, the moment I found out what was going down, I started checking around. S'why Pompidou isn't here, he's...ah...hitting the streets. Making a few discreet inquiries. Believe me, he's good at sniffing that shit out, pun intended."

Chloe glanced over at the empty side of the booth, blushing with embarrassment for having previously failed to notice the dog's absence. She then crossed her arms in front of her chest and asked, "Well how long until he gets back?"

"Dunno. Could be a minute, could be a millennium. Time doesn't pass the same way here it does in the quote-unquote real world. Again, if it were me, I'd just forget about it. Go back, use that last chance to put things back the way you had it the first time. That was good. Real good. Take a good thing when you see it."

"Fuck you, Frank. I'm not giving up!"

"Fine. Suit yourself."

Chloe waited. For a minute. Or a millennium. Or a million years. She and Frank sat there in silence, after her few abortive attempts at small talk were brusquely shot down.

She closed her eyes, and waited some more, though she didn't feel tired. Nor thirsty nor hungry. Time truly lost its meaning in this place beyond worlds, and Chloe wondered what would happen first: Pompidou's return, or the splintering of her sanity.

Chloe thought about a great number of things to pass the time: her job, the current state of her life, the dark uncertainty of her future. Almost none of her thoughts involved what to do for a third and final attempt.

 _I wish Dad were here…_

It was the first time in a long while she'd thought of her father William. Even though for years, she couldn't stop; each and every day she woke up, he was the first thing on her mind. And at the end of every day, when she went to sleep. He was in her dreams, offering advice, especially in those early days when she first met Rachel. But now, his shade, the one that lived in her subconscious, lay dormant.

 _And that's really where it all went wrong._

The thought drifted up unbidden; she straightened up, wondering what exactly that was supposed to mean.

 _Where it all went wrong…_

The day he died, she lost her greatest supporter, her most devoted champion. The day he was buried, she lost her best friend, her partner in crime. The girl she'd been up to that point died with him. The two of them might as well be buried together.

 _I wonder what he'd say, if I could talk to him now. What he'd think. I wonder what'd be different, if he just hadn't gone out that day to pick Mom up from work…_

"Oh shit," she breathed out softly.

Frank glanced over in her direction; he said nothing but knitted his brows in concern.

How could she have missed it before? How was her very first attempt _not_ to do it? To go back and convince him not to go out that day. Hell, she could already see how childishly simple it would be. She didn't even have to convince him to not go, just slow him up for a minute or two. That might be enough to prevent him from being at the same intersection as the truck.

 _Whoa. Wait. Wait a second here, because Time is clearly fucking with me somehow. It gave Max powers or...okay I don't know what's up with that shit, but saving Dad can't be as easy as all that. No. I gotta figure out how to get him to do something else. Take the bus, or have Mom take a taxi? There's gotta be a way. I'll figure it out._

As the seconds ticked by, Chloe was increasingly certain about her choice; this is the path she was meant to take all along. It was so obvious; this is why none of the other timelines worked out. It was karma. A punishment for thinking mostly about herself, and not for the one person who _deserved_ to be saved above all others.

 _That has to be it! Max and I will probably stay in touch. I don't know if Rachel and I will ever become friends, and maybe I can't save her in the end. But maybe I gotta also have faith that if I do this,_ everything _will work out._

She didn't need any more convincing. This was the shot to take, the final chance to fight for. A last leap of faith. Her fingers were wrapping themselves around the bullet.

"Kid! What the hell are you doing? Wait for Pompidou to come back! Don't go off half-cocked for fuck's sake!"

With a smirk, she glanced over to Frank and murmured, "I figured it out. Cracked the whole damn puzzle. You'll see Frank. Everything's gonna be awesome. See ya on the flipside!"

Her departure was punctuated by an angry grunt from Frank.

"Damnit!"

Pompidou appeared as if from thin air, a split second later. He glanced over to Frank, giving him an affectionate lick on the hand. The thin man's demeanor quickly transformed, from frustration and anger to affection, reaching over to scratch his dog between the ears.

"Hey pal. Good timing. Everything copacetic? You figure out what the hell is going on?"

"Bark! Bark bark!"

"Huh. Well...fuck. No wonder you took a while. No one's ever gonna accuse you of not digging under every rock and tree, pun intended."

"Bark! Bark?"

Frank replied. "I told her you were checking into it. But she ran off. Again. Half-cocked, no fucking surprise. Chloe Fucking Price, Ms. Predictable."

"Bark. Bark bark bark."

Frank blinked.

"Friendo, that's the kind of shit you should have led with. Jesus Christ. About time we heard from them. They know what's going on?"

"Bark!"

"'Don't worry about it? Everything is proceeding as it should be?' Bullshit!" Frank frowned. "What bullshit is this? We're trying to pull this caper off, trying to take care of this job, that I...that...you and I _both_ have a lot riding on, and we're not supposed to worry about some _other_ Operator giving time powers to her friend and screwing it all up? What the actual fucking hell?!"

"Rrrrr..rrr?"

"Ah. Shit. No no. Not mad at you." He reached out to stroke Pompidou reassuringly. "Just, feels like this whole job is getting sketchier by the minute. I don't like having our asses so obviously exposed."

"Bark!"

"Yeah. You're right. Role reversal, me being the nervous one now."

"Bark."

"Huh. Why would they want us to go there? Doesn't make a lot of sense. But...guess we have no choice but to roll with it. In too fucking deep now. C'mon." Frank rose up, grumbling darkly. "Might as well get a move on."

Now it was Pompidou's turn to whimper.

"Wouldn't be the first time a job fell apart because the client got lazy or stupid. Happens again? We wait our turn, and we give it another shot. I mean shit...what's waiting another two or three thousand years gonna cost us?"

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** Hey all! Happy almost-Halloween! Hope you're all having a good weekend. Thanks as always to **Leosch** for the proofing, and a couple of suggestions.

So it's now been about four and a half weeks since my injury. I finally go back to work tomorrow. I'm not 100%, but I think I'm at least well enough to struggle through the first week, and then continue recovering from there. It's not like I have a choice at this point, I'm running very low on sick leave as it is. But now I've got some standing desk configurations set up for home and work, so thanks again to my Kofi donators for making that happen!

So after last week, **LonesomeBard** said something that gave me an amazing idea for an alternate ending...something that would twist around the end of this chapter, and then send Chloe somewhere else . Thematically, it doesn't work quite so well with the rest of the story, and I'm perfectly happy with the ending as I wrote it, but it's such an interesting idea that I think I might do it as an alternate end sometime later on, when I'm a bit more recovered.

Anyhow, thanks for the reviews and faves, and have a wonderful rest of the weekend!


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

 _White._

 _The world melts into being, out of the void of pure whiteness._

A sharp click, the sound of mechanical gears whirring.

 _A frozen moment in time grinds forward._

" _Someday Dad will get one of them newfangled computers," Chloe says. She pauses for a moment, then blinks. She's possessed of the strangest feeling that she's trapped, for lack of a better word. Going through the motions, saying things and moving about, all the while completely unable to stop herself from following whatever script she's supposed to be playing out. She feels as if she's little more than a programmed automaton._

" _I hope the flash didn't scare you Max. This...is a keeper."_

 _It's her father who says the words._

 _Her...father?_

 _Max?_

 _The sense of disquiet, of depersonalization flares up, struggles against its bonds. For some reason, something deep inside is so glad, so thankful, so_ relieved _to see him. And her. Both of them!_

 _Yet all she can do is helplessly watch as some other Chloe speaks for her._

" _Not until I see it first! You know the rules, Dad! Max, tell him…"_

 _She turns to her friend, shocked by how out of sorts she appears to be._

" _Whoa, hey. You look totally pale. Are you okay?"_

" _Yeah...I just...uh...yeah...I'm fine."_

" _Okay, Chloe," William says. "Give me the thumbs up or thumbs down."_

 _Chloe doesn't answer. She's too focused on Max, on the way she wanders about the house, dazed and uncertain._

 _It stirs something inside her. A memory. A feeling. Something important, something…_

 _Gah! This is gonna drive her nuts. She needs to figure this out! Why is this...why is this so crazy? Why does seeing her best friend and her father together in one room make her feel so happy, and so sad?_

 _What would Rachel say, if she asked her for advice?_

 _Wait...who's….Rachel…?_

"Hello? Chloe? Now you? I hope both you girls aren't coming down with something."

It felt different this time, as Chloe took control; less herky-jerky, more like a simple settling into place, like water seeping through cracks. As if waking up slowly, gradually, from a long sleep, opposed to quickly rising up from a bad dream.

"What? No - ah, no...I'm fine. I'm...I'm great, Dad."

The word slipped from her lips without thought as Chloe ground down hard on her instinctive desire to throw her arms around her father, now standing whole and very much alive in her presence.

Ten years. For ten, long, hard, terrible years, she'd missed him. Mourned until the memory of him grew twisted and faded from repeated recollection. So many of her formative years passed on in his absence, until one day, Chloe Price woke up and realized that she remembered her father more as an adored ideal than as an actual living, breathing human being.

She coughed for a moment, covering up a sob that wrenched itself free from her chest.

"Are you sure you're okay, Chloe?" William asked with concern.

Swiftly calling upon her winningest smile, she replied, "I'm great, Dad. Spluh, why wouldn't I be? Just a little tickle in my throat. Don't worry." She gave him a soft, affectionate punch on his shoulder, and felt a shock tingle up her spine, as she confirmed that yes, this was happening, and yes, he was here, and whole and real again.

Her eyes drifted over to Max, cradling William's camera in her hands. There was something about the way she was looking at them both.

 _Huh. She always adored that thing. Don't know what to make of that expression though. She's looking at me like I'm a...a stranger or something._

The moment of oddness passed, as Max held up the camera, smiled shyly and said, "Now I get to take a picture. Strike a pose!"

Chloe stood dumbly for a moment. That sense - that something was off-kilter - returned, stronger than before. An alarming chaotic ripple in an otherwise placid lake surface.

 _I seriously don't remember Max taking our picture that day. Weird._

Before Chloe could fully ponder the butterfly effect ramifications that taking over the body of her fourteen year old self was clearly producing, William smiled affably and murmured, "Just make me look young."

Chole laughed once and added, "Yeah. Uh...make me a star."

The picture was taken, then placed next to the previous photo. With that, Max headed off into the living room. Chloe was torn, uncertain which of the two she wanted to spend time with. Both were so precious to her, in their own ways.

 _Okay Chloe. C'mon! Head in the fucking game here, bitch! Last chance, literally your last chance to pull this off. You make this work, you can call Max and Dad every damn day for the rest of your life. Hah! The way that last trip went, maybe I'll wake up, and Dad'll be giving me away at my own wedding to…_

Chloe bit her lip, and looked over her shoulder as Max turned the corner down the hallway. She was still trying to process all of the revelations her last trip revealed, and it was difficult to determine which had the greater impact: that her best friend somehow acquired magic time-twisting powers in another universe, or that the two of them were happy. And together, and in love.

If just for a little while.

She turned away and blushed down to her chest.

 _There's no reason why that would happen in this timeline, the one I'm about to make._

But then again, there wasn't any reason why it wouldn't, either.

 _I can't...I can't think about this right now! I don't have any time to waste! I have to focus on making this timeline right. I have to save my Dad. And then I'll deal with everything else rattling around in my head._

"Chloe? You want to help me with the cooking?" William asked, in a tone that suggested he was clearly not convinced there wasn't something wrong with his daughter.

"S-sure Dad. Yeah, love to." She fixed her warmest smile upon him. "Just tell me how many eggs to crack."

The two of them chatted affectionately, Chloe did her best to keep up with the playful banter, while working to formulate a plan to save William from his appointed hour with Death.

 _What do I do? How do I stop this? Ah God! Fucking Frank's probably laughing at me, because I didn't plan ahead. Like usual! Okay, screw this. It can't be hard. Dad was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. So this should be easy, right? Like delaying him, even for a minute or two. I just have to remember how long it'll be until the phone…_

...suddenly started to ring.

 _Oh shit! Fuckfuckfuck!_

"Uh, hey! Excuse me, Dad. I'll get it," Chloe said. It was as good an opening as any to get her away and do something, anything! She'd wasted so much time, and she only had one shot at this!

 _Damnit!_

Maybe she could keep Mom talking on the phone for a while. A minute, even two. Idle gossip, something. Anything! A small push that could turn into an avalanche of positive change.

"Sorry, wrong number."

 _Wait. What?! Was that Max?!_

Chloe stared at her friend. Max looked up at her, like a deer caught in headlights. A few seconds passed. She could hear Joyce on the other end of the line, demanding to know what was going on.

Max fumbled with the phone as she desperately slammed the phone back down into its cradle. She then reached up with a hand, as if trying to pluck something from the air…

A horrified look spread over her face, and a second later, she quickly dropped her arm back down.

 _What the literal fuck is happening here!?_

Chloe didn't have time for this. At the same time, every instinct was screaming at her to interrogate Max, to demand why the girl was acting so strangely, why she was trying to keep Joyce from reaching her father. There was no reason for this! Something was wrong.

Terribly wrong!

But she also knew that her Mom had a cell phone, and it wouldn't be more than thirty seconds before she was on it, calling her Dad directly. She didn't have time to figure out the mystery of Max's strange behavior.

"C-chloe. Wait, I can ex-!"

"No need!" she cheerily exclaimed as she shot the other girl down. In one smooth motion, Chloe scooped the car keys from the bowl on the same table the phone rest upon.

 _Let's see. If I remember correctly, the weird little doohicky on the ring is that remote key finder Dad got. Jesus he loved that shit from SpyGuy. So yeah, okay, I can't just hide them in the room, and I can't have them on me. I need to get rid of them. Somewhere far enough to not be in range, or at least not be heard, and I need to do it now!_

The perfect plan immediately snapped into her brain.

She calmly yet rapidly shuffled towards the glass sliding door leading to the back yard. She ignored the looks Max gave her as she followed along. She quickly slid the door open, chucked the keys out into the yard, and then rolled the door back, just in time to hear her father answering his cell phone.

"Chloe?! What are you doing?" Max asked.

Leaning smugly against the glass, Chloe mused, "I dunnoooo. What were yoooou doing? Telling my Mom she called the wrong number?"

Max cringed and gave a nervous laugh.

"Practical joke?"

Chloe nodded once, latching onto the opening Max gave her.

"Practical joke. So you in on this or what?"

Max lit up. "Oh yeah! Seriously, I am in. Totally in. So...so in! The innest!"

"Really? I'm not sure you're in," Chloe teased.

"I can enjoy jokes too, you know," Max softly complained.

"It's just usually you'd be the one telling me not to do something that'll get us in trouble." Chloe waited for a few beats, letting Max stumbled over her explanation before she said, "Relax. Being a bad girl is a good look on you." She couldn't resist reaching out and gripping her upper arm, and throwing in the kind of playful, sensual wink that was more suited to a woman in her twenties than a girl barely in her teens.

It was a stupid risk, but Chloe couldn't help but admit to herself that the reaction it got from Max was totally worth it.

"Of course. Last time I order from Spyguy electronics," William bemoaned, breaking the tension between the two of them.

 _Holy shit! This is it! He didn't find the keys. Now he'll have to do something else to pick up Mom from work!_

"It's cool, Daddy!" Chloe exclaimed. "Just call an Uber."

"A what?" her father asked incredulously.

She shrunk down, her heart smashing out wild staccato beats. Of course that would make perfect sense in 2018. But In 2008, the damn company didn't exist yet!

 _I think?_

Fortunately, Max quickly saved the situation, as she interjected, "You can take the bus, right? The stop is just down the street!"

 _The bus! Duh! How the fuck could I forget about that?_

"This I can do. Thanks Max!"

"Oh yeah. The bus is great! It comes every fifteen minutes, and they'll be plenty of room for you and Joyce and…"

"Yeah! The bus is totally hot!" Chloe added, smirking over to Max. "I'm pretty sure we've got him sold on the concept, yo."

With a light sigh, William said, "Hah, the bus it is then!" As he wandered out of the house, he murmured, "Ah, Joyce will love this."

And just like that, he was gone.

Chloe had done it!

She and Max together. Totally teamed up, somehow, and managed to pull it off.

"Ha ha!" she exclaimed with a yelp. "We did it! It worked, it totally worked. I can't believe we got away with it!"

"Are you okay?" Max asked with concern. She was looking at her, like she'd never actually seen her before.

"You kidding? I'm great! This is awesome, I'm awesome, we are totally awesome!"

The two of them were hugging tightly. It was hard to tell who went in first, but the moment was pure fortuitous sympatico. Chloe was grateful, always and forever, that her Dad was coming back into her life. And so was Max!

 _Because why not?! If Dad's still around, I'll be okay. Everything will be okay! And Max and I will stay in touch, and...and who knows what that'll mean. Oh my God! It's going to be great! It's going to be the best!_

On instinct, Chloe's mouth starts to move in, adult impulse forgetting its current time and circumstance.

Her vision swims before their lips have a chance to meet. Everything starts to turn black.

"Chloe? H-hey. Are you alright? Chloe? Chloe?!"

 _Chloe shakes her head, wondering why the heck she's got Max pulled up close against her._

" _What, hey? I'm...I'm fine, Max. Just feeling woozy. Huh. Where did Dad go?"_

 _She pulls slowly back, wondering why Max doesn't answer, as her own features turn slack and glassy for a few seconds._

" _Are_ you _okay, nerd?" Chloe teases._

 _Max blinks, and says, "Huh? I'm...fine. Hey. Wasn't your Dad here a few seconds ago?"_

" _Uh. Maybe? Huh. Wait, didn't he go to pick up Mom?"_

" _Oh. Right. That's it. But he had to take a bus? Or a…"_

" _A what?"_

" _Chloe, what's an Uber?"_

" _Hell should I know? Anyhow, c'mon upstairs with me? Mom wants me to clean up my room, and I could really use your help trying to figure out what I should keep, and what goes in the trash."_

 _The two of them skip upstairs._

 _It's going to be an awesome day today!_

* * *

 _An so life goes on._

 _Chloe and Max spend the rest of the day reminiscing about their childhoods. William returns home with Joyce in tow, and the two of them have a lovely salmon dinner. Afterwards, Chloe and Max build their dream pirate fort on the beach._

 _As the sun sets, Max finally confesses to Chloe that she and her family are leaving for Seattle in a few days time. Chloe confesses that she knew all along. They laugh, and hug, and swear to write back and stay in touch, each and every day._

 _For a while, that's exactly what happens._

 _A few weeks later, William surprises Chloe with a trip to Arizona; painfully aware of the classist drama that his daughter is forced to endure, he offers to send her to an academy in Phoenix that is almost as good as Blackwell, but far more egalitarian._

 _Chloe bursts into tears, hugging her father, even as she immediately refuses. She knows that the added expense would mean further deferring her mother's dream to become a teacher. The support she gets from Max, plus her desire to overcome the obstacles ahead of her strengthen her resolve to get through the rest of her high school years close to home._

 _The next two years fly by, as Chloe tears through her courses, learning to stand up for herself against the vicious slings and arrows of teenage social drama. She finds her own niche with other like-minded academic achievers, content to fade into the background; neither a social butterfly or an outcast._

 _Near the start of junior year, she quickly obtains her license and her father surprises her with a new car, thanks to a raise William recently received. Joyce starts making making plans to quit her job at the diner and work on her education degree at the community college._

 _Fate, however, remembers the life it was denied. Patiently it has waited for the right moment to strike, with cruel precision._

 _Right down Chloe's spine, in a car crash meant for her father._

* * *

"I want this time with you to be my last memory. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I do" Max responded.

"All you have to do is just crank up the IV to eleven."

For three years, Chloe was a prisoner of her own body. And for three years, she forced her parents to become prisoners of obligation, of debt. So many dreams shattered, so many plans put on hold or permanently abandoned. There were days she wanted to give up, nights where she prayed to die in her sleep, if only to stop being such a burden.

But her father always told her to hang on, to grab on to hope as tight as possible, and never let go. And for his sake, his love, she did just that. She learned how to live a limited kind of life, getting around with her wheelchair, and figuring out how to communicate almost exclusively via the Internet. She learned how to detach from her sense of ego, while suffering the indignities of being so helpless and dependent.

That was before she heard the doctors talking about her condition, when they thought she was passed out.

That was before she understood the inevitability of her end. That each and every day she remained alive was little more than wasted effort, good money thrown after bad. She wanted to die, yes, but not out of selfish reasons! Not for herself.

But for her parents.

For her father.

Yes, it would break his heart now, but he was strong. He'd learn to carry on. They were young, or at least young enough to still be able to declare bankruptcy, consolidate their debts, and rebuild a new life.

Something precious, just for the two of them.

Max, her dearest, her most beloved friend, returning to her at long last. That couldn't be a coincidence. It _had_ to mean something. The Universe giving her a means at last to do what she herself was incapable of.

More to the point: the Universe was giving her permission.

"Max?" Chloe asked, trying to keep her voice calm. "I know I laid a lot on you just there, but please, it's okay. I'm an adult. I'm giving you my permission. I can't do this on my own. I would, if I could."

 _Shit. This is so much to hit her with, all at once. Boom, she suddenly shows up on my door after five years, and after we spend one night...well. It was a hell of a night, together…._

It was the first time since the accident she'd actually felt human. Like there was a happily ever after waiting for her. If her father's love gave her the motivation to stay alive, Max's return gave her a reason to actually live life to the fullest of her capabilities!

If only there was time.

If only her fate wasn't an inevitable conclusion, writ in stone.

If only she'd had a fighting chance at happiness.

No doubt, she would have taken it.

"I - I want to help you, Chloe," Max said, her voice choked with emotion. "But I think my help is hurting."

"At least you have a choice!" Chloe replied, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice, the desperate pleading. "When you want to make a decision, you can just do it. "Look at me," she continued. "I'm at the mercy of...everybody!"

She closed her eyes, biting back the bile rising up in her throat, the years of indignity coalescing into a white hot point of agony.

"For once, I want to make my own choice. The most important one of my life."

She opened her eyes again, looked Max dead in the eyes, and softly begged, "Please. Help me, Max."

"Chloe," Max murmured. It wasn't what she said, but the way she said it. Chloe knew she'd convinced her. She was never more certain of having made a correct decision in her - very short, very soon to be over - life.

She looked up towards the ceiling and said, "I'll just drift asleep...dreaming of us here together...forever."

Chloe closed her eyes in anticipation of sweet release, doing her best not to smile. Her final thoughts were of Max, and what would happen.

 _They won't blame her. Mom and Dad. I know they won't. I mean, they'll know what happened. They'll_ know _she wouldn't have done it unless I asked her to. And none of them will ever speak about it again, but all of them will know this was the right thing to do!_

The morphine was making it hard to breathe. But there was no fear in her heart. It was no more unpleasant than falling asleep, after a long, hard run.

She'd earned this. She'd savor what few seconds were still left to her, in their fullness.

"I'm so proud of you for following your dreams," she murmured.

 _Live. Live for us both, Max._

"Don't forget about me."

"Never!"

 _As long as you remember me, I'll never actually be dead. Not all the way._

"I love you, Max."

 _I do love you. I did...love you. A girl has a lot of time to think, when she's stuck on her ass. Think about what might have been. Think about what the people in her life meant to her. Another life. Another us, you and me? Who knows what it would have been like? Except...the best._

"See you….around."

Chloe felt herself slip away as Max said, "Sooner than you think."

And then...nothing.

An infinitesimally small eternity passed. Chloe swore she could have lived a hundred million lives in the time it took for awareness to return to her, in the heartbeat span between life and death. One minute, she was there, lying in the bed…

...the next...

 _Chloe is free!_

 _She can breathe deeply, even though she no longer actually needs to. Nothing hurts! Everything is so easy and light._

 _Well, maybe not everything. She looks over towards Max, head bowed, sobbing soft tears of guilt. She reaches out, knowing already that she'll never make physical contact, but desperately hoping beyond hope that somehow, Max will feel her presence; that she'll know that everything is fine. The right decision was made._

 _Chloe didn't know what would come next, but there was no fear in her at all._

 _Just...curiosity._

 _Curiosity about…_

" _Wait, who...who are you?" she asks, of the strange, gaunt blond man leaning against the door to the living room as he smirks at her. At his feet stands a mutt of a junkyard dog._

 _She doesn't recognize either of them._

" _H-holy shit. Are you Death, dude?"_

 _The older man laughs unkindly, taking a long slow drag from his cigarette and murmurs, "Nope. Believe me, Death's a Lady who's got her work cut out for her. I mean, sure, yeah, sometimes she sub-contracts out, lets me pick up a little scratch here and there. Especially if I ask Her real nice, to let me go back home and take care of it on Her behalf. But...nah. Not today. No. Today kid, you're about to get really damn lucky."_

 _Chloe blinked. Uncertainty wells up in the back of her mind. This isn't what she expected. Instinctively, she knows something is wrong. Not a threat, or danger._

 _But something is definitely wrong. She knows that much now, even if she can't explain why._

" _That feeling in the back of your brain is on account of you totally fucking up," The Man-Who-Would-Be-Death tells her. "And I gotta hand it to you, even I didn't see it coming, and I see a_ lot _of things, these days."_

" _What's that supposed to mean?" Chloe asks, suddenly remember what anger is, as notes of it rise up to her voice._

" _Means you shoulda spent time thinking about….awww….fuck it. Nah. Even you couldn't have guessed what was gonna happen." The man shrugs languidly and then motions over to Max. "But good thing for you, kid, you got an angel. Your own personal guardian angel."_

 _Chloe turns back, peering over towards Max, as she stops crying. Watches as she reaches over and grabs the photo album the two of them were looking through, minutes earlier. She grabs one photo in particular, narrows her eyes, focusing on it intently._

 _There is a pulse. A tone. A flux in the fabric of reality. Chloe can feel it, down to her non-existent bones. Like a whale feels a low, keening disturbance in the ocean._

" _What is she doing?" she asks. Frightened now._

 _The man takes another long drag and then carelessly flicks his cigarette away. "What she's best at. Saving your ass. Over and over, and over again. Max and Chloe. Choe and Max."_

" _Saving me? How?"_

 _He opens his mouth, but then thinks better of it, grinning fiendishly. "There's no time left to explain it. And besides, you'll never remember, on account of you not existing anymore." He turns away from her, and mumbles to himself, "Although...gotta wonder how they knew. Told me it would all work out...lo and behold, it kinda did."_

" _What?!" Chloe is rooted to the spot, as panic overtakes her. She thought dying would have prepared her for oblivion, but now, she is so terribly frightened!_

" _I don't want to die...not again! Not…"_

And then Max was gone.

Taking an entire universe with her in her wake.

* * *

"Chloe?! What are you doing?"

A hand reached out, grabbing Chloe's wrist before she could toss the keys out into the yard.

Chloe frowned, and tried to jerk her hand back, hissing, "What were _you_ doing? Telling my Mom she called the wrong number?"

Max didn't cringe, nor did she relent.

"Look, it's just a practical joke, okay? Harmless, fun, c'mon. Don't be a pill, Max!"

 _Don't stop me, Max. Damnit, don't! Please don't! I'm begging you, this is my one and only chance!_

"Chloe...you can't. I don't have time to explain, and I don't understand how this is even happening, but if you're trying to save your Dad from dying today...you can't! I have to stop you!"

Thunderstruck didn't do justice to how Chloe felt.

 _What?! How...how could she know? What does it even mean….oh shit._

"Fuck! Do you have time powers in this universe, too? Have you always had them? God damn!" Chloe hissed, in low, angry tones. She took some perverse pleasure in the reaction that got from Max, the way she went white as a sheet.

"Max, what could be so important? I don't know why you didn't use your powers to save him before, and I sure as fuck don't understand why you're trying to stop me now!"

"I did! I came back in time to try and save him! I swear! And all of the sudden, you started helping me, and this is….I still don't believe it! This is crazy! But….arrrg! I don't have time. Chloe! You have to listen to me! You have to believe me, okay? I've seen what happens. This isn't going to end the way you think it does!"

"Oh yeah? How does it end? With my Dad alive? What's so bad about that?!"

"Your Dad will live, but you're gonna die!"

Chloe felt her arm drop, her grip on the keys slacken, though they didn't drop out of her hand.

"What...what does that mean?"

"It means that you get into an accident two years from now. It completely cripples you! And when we finally meet up again, you're dying. And you...you ask me to…"

The keys chirped, interrupting their conversation.

As one, Chloe and Max looked over towards William.

"There's where my keys ended up. Chloe, what are you doing with them?"

"I - I...uh...um."

Max smoothly interceded, "We were just grabbing them to give to you. I heard you talking to Joyce, that you have to go and pick her up."

"Oh. Well, isn't that nice?" William said with a smile. There was a twinkle in his eyes, something that said that he didn't fully believe them, but didn't see any reason to make it unpleasant.

Chloe surrendered the keys, trying not to look like a deer caught in headlights, and failing miserably.

"Okay girls, I'll be back soon. In the meantime, no Chloe and Max wine tasting, alright? Your Mother will be making her famous salmon. See you soon!"

Chloe helplessly watched as her father started to walk towards the door.

 _No! Oh God! No, please, no! Don't let it end like this!_

Everything was going by, far too fast. Another few seconds, and she'd lose her last chance forever.

Chloe ran across the living room, almost tackling her father as she cried out, "Daddy! Wait!"

She flung her arms around him and hugged him fiercely, desperately afraid to let go.

"Huh? Oh my goodness, Chloe? Are you okay?"

 _No. I am not fucking okay, Dad. I don't want to let you go. I don't have to let you go. Just a minute, just a few seconds more, and maybe that'll be enough. Enough to make a difference, enough to keep you alive!_

She looked up into his eyes, warm and gentle. Eyes she'd desperately tried to hang on to the memory of for the past ten years. There were a million questions she wanted to ask, and a hundred billion things she wanted to say.

But it was too late.

She knew that now.

It was too late.

For every possible path...except one.

She hugged him tightly one last time and lied, "F-fine. I'm fine! What...can't a daughter say goodbye to her father?"

"Goodbye? Ha! Don't make it sound like you're never going to see me again."

It took a supreme effort of will for Chloe to keep from bursting into tears of inconsolable grief.

"Stay safe, okay?" Chloe said, knowing how useless the advice would ultimately prove. "And...I love you. I love you, Dad."

She tried to communicate so many things unspoken through her gaze alone. So many words that would never be uttered, so many conversations never to be had. It wouldn't ever be enough, but she would have to make this moment last a lifetime.

"Heh...awwww, kitten. I love you too, Chloe," William said, returning the hug, before letting go. He then added, "But that's still a no on the wine! At least wait until you're sixteen, then maybe we'll talk."

Chloe stood there, unable to move as she helplessly watched the smiling face of her father vanish. And in another second, the door behind him closed.

He was gone. Again.

Forever.

"Chloe?" Max asked.

She fell to her hands and knees, closed her eyes, and started to sob.

"Chloe. I...I'm so sorry. I know it doesn't feel like it, but you did the right thing. It's going to be better. I promise."

"It's not...it's not fair! It's not fair….it's not."

Chloe clutched at her chest, as failure burned through her heart, fracturing it to the point where she wished she could die. And for a moment, she so fervently prayed that the end would come that she felt as if she came close; literally, willing herself to stop existing.

But one pure, singular thought rose up, unbidden, keeping her anchored.

"I got to say goodbye."

"What?"

"I….I got to say goodbye, Max."

She struggled to rise up to her feet, grateful for Max's help. The sobs still ripped through her but they dissipate quicker than she thought possible, as she spoke.

"Never...I never got to say goodbye. Oh fuck. Didn't realize how much that was eating me alive, Max. Ten years, ten long, shitty years, and I never got to say goodbye to him. And I just did . My very last words to him: I said goodbye. And...I love you."

Max put two and two together on the spot. "Ten years. Chloe, what are you saying? What...what year are you from?"

Chloe laughed once. "2018. You?"

"20….2013," Max said with reluctant caution, still clearly having difficulty believing that this was happening.

"Wow. Shit. I really got the advantage here, huh?"

Max suddenly grabbed her arms, "Chloe, if you're from the future, I need you to tell me what's going to happen! Where's Rachel Amber? What's happening with Nathan Prescott? Do we ever figure out what the hell the Dark Room is? Or what happened to Kate?!"

None of it made sense to Chloe. How would Max even know about the shit with Nathan and Jefferson if she died in the bathroom before it all came out?

 _The fuck? How badly did I screw things up? Is Max...is she from an alternate timeline? What the hell is going to happen now?_

Chloe opened her mouth to start and explain, but halted. There was a tug at the back of her mind. A thin, invisible cord pulling at her, slowly but surely. She'd gone through this enough times now, that she understood when she was being 'recalled'. She had a few seconds at best; what could she tell her? What would help?

An image flashed in her mind; a desolate, dusty trailer in Nevada. A desperate, pathetic life spent mourning over Max, another Max, who also twisted the world with time powers.

The destruction of Arcadia Bay.

The pieces snapped together with ferocious intensity, and in a single moment, Chloe knew exactly what it is was she needed to tell her.

Even though it could mean that Chloe could die.

Maybe? Maybe not.

Things were so confused, so tangled up now, but she had a single chance to try and stop this Max from making a terrible mistake. One that was made five years and another universe ago.

"Max!" Chloe yelled, grabbing her friends hands in her own. "I don't have any time left. Listen to me, please! If the day ever comes where you have to make a choice, where you have to choose between saving my life, or everyone in Arcadia Bay, you let me go, okay!? You let me go! I'm not worth it. Whatever's gonna happen, you let it happen!"

"What do you mean, Chloe? What are you talking about...are….are you talking about the tornado? Does this have something to do with the tornado? Chloe...Chloe!? What's going to happen in the future?!"

Chloe felt the whiplash in her soul as she was unceremoniously yanked out of the past.

* * *

"And Max Caulfield? Don't you forget about me!"

"Never."

And so, it'd come to this.

Chloe, the one from the future, told her something like this was going to happen. Maybe not the exact details, maybe not when and where and how, but she knew.

Somehow, she knew.

Max was still trying to puzzle it out; she'd made very cautious and circumspect inquiries to Chloe after she returned from 2008, and there was no sign that her friend possessed time powers of her own, nor had any memory of talking to her about it on the day William died.

 _This makes no sense! How can I remember this, but Chloe doesn't? Does that mean she's really from the future? Maybe...maybe it's from an alternate timeline, a future that went away after I destroyed the picture. But...but that doesn't make sense either!_

All the same, it gave her a curious sense of hope; hope that despite the fact that Chloe was asking - no, begging! - her to let her die in the bathroom, back in the eternity that was Monday morning, she might actually somehow survive.

 _Because how else could she come all the way from 2018?!_

Regardless, the situation was grim. Every cell in her brain was telling her that Chloe was right, that there were thousands of lives at stake, that if the tornado made it to the center of town, the devastation would be catastrophic.

But her heart?

Oh God. It would be breaking, if there were any pieces left to fracture.

It was unfair: supremely, ultimately, entirely unfair. Chloe Price was brilliant. Gifted. Kind and loving, and all the Universe had done was take and take and take from her. Her father. Rachel Amber. Blackwell. And now, her own life.

And that was all before the confusion of Max's own personal feelings were thrown into the mix.

 _Did we actually kiss? Like, real, full, right on the mouth? And that wasn't for the first time, either._

Max mourned. Not just for Chloe, and for the terrible fate that was certain to befall, but for herself as well. For the relationship they might have ended up sharing together.

The one beyond mere friendship.

But now a choice starred her hard in the face. A terrible binary equation. Save the Bay, or Chloe. Left or right, one or zero, white or black. There was no room in between.

But Max couldn't meekly accept that.

There had to be a way. A third option.

 _There's always another choice!_

What that way might be didn't occur to her until she'd jump back into the picture. When she stood there, hiding away in the stall, feeling dumb, and useless, and guilty. When she heard Nathan walk into the bathroom.

When she knew what was coming.

She felt herself stuck on a fulcrum point; on the middle of a seesaw that demanded to tip over, one way or the other. But at the last second, Max chose to jump off, jump forward. Move ahead in a third dimensional fashion, away and out of her two dimensional dilemma.

Hers wasn't a sacrifice bourn of deeply pondered intent or noble motivation. It was a sudden, instinctive thing, built of foolish bravado and impulse. A desperate need to do something, _anything_. Anything at all, except stand there and wait for her best friend to die!

And yet, in that panicked moment of action, there was a serenity about it. A certainty. Max didn't intend to get shot, but for the briefest of moments, yes. The thought had occurred to her, that she might.

Her fate was sealed with the sharp crack of gunfire.

 _Oh well. Too late to take it back now._

She'd tried, of course. But for some reason, her powers had abandoned her. Perhaps it was the shock and pain making it too difficult to focus. Maybe it was a subconscious acceptance that this was the way things needed to be.

"Oh God...oh, Jesus fucking...h...hey! Help! Somebody help! Please! He shot someone…"

Max looked up, struggling to speak. Getting shot hurt a lot worse than she imagined, but the pain wasn't as debilitating as she expected.

The blood loss, on the other hand…

"M-Max? Max Caulfield?!"

"Chloe…I'm so sorry." Max said, reaching up to cup her friend's face. She could feel the blunette's warm flesh against her rapidly chilling fingertips. She thought of all the days and nights they'd never get to share together. And all the days and nights she wasted, refusing out of guilt and shame to stay in touch with Chloe over the past five years.

 _Wasted so much time. Time I'll never get back._

She favored Chloe with a sad, pained smile, thinking about what was gone, and what would never be. There was only this singular moment in the present left between them.

"Don't….don't talk. Just lie still okay?! Lie still and...hey help! Help! HELP!"

Chloe screamed, her voice rising to a shrill pitch as she attempted to clamber to her feet. With every ounce of strength left to muster, Max reached out and gripped her wrist.

 _This is it. Don't have much time left. What do I tell her? Why did I do it? Why did I...do this?_

The answer came to her immediately.

 _Because one of us deserved it more. Because….like the the Chloe in the other timeline said: only one of us actually had the opportunity to choose: life, or death._

 _And I chose life….for Chloe!_

"Too late…" Max hissed out, before spitting out a mouthful of blood. "S'okay though. 'm happy...you survived." She tried to laugh, obviously thinking better of it as her face contorted into a mask of pain. "All that lost time. Five years. It's my fault. But...you're alive. You're still alive. All that matters."

It was getting harder to breathe. Hard to see. The bathroom floor was cold as ice.

"It's okay, it's okay! I promise...don't….now's not the time to talk about it." Chloe insisted, gripping her hand, trying to speak as soothingly as possible. "You're gonna pull through this, okay? You're gonna survive! And then you can spend the rest of your life apologizing to me." She gave a strangled, abortive laugh, and then shook her head. Her voice was wet and rough with agony as she said, "No...no, if you make it, you never have to say a single fucking sorry ever again! So please hang on, Max. I'm gonna get help, but you have to hang on!"

It was getting harder to hold out. Too hard. She wasn't going to make it. But that's okay. This was good. She'd had a good life, and this was going to be a good death.

She was going to die. But she'd gladly do so now, if it meant that Chloe Price could…

"Live."

Chloe nodded with frenetic, disjointed energy, as she tried again to move towards the door.

"You're going to live. I promise!"

 _Oh God. Chloe. Look at you. Look at us. You're going to do such...such amazing things! But you have to move on._

"No." Max sighed softly, as she let her hand drop to the ground.

She could barely see. Chloe's face, her beautiful features, her azure hair, the sharp cut of her nose and chin. They would all be be the very last things she took with her to the grave.

Gathering up the last few sparks of life left in her broken frame, she pushed them all out into a single phrase. A dying wish. A fervent command. A pleading entreaty.

"Live, Chloe. Just...live."

… _for the both of us._

And with that, Max pulled her lips into a small, hope filled smile, the last action of her short, but eventful life.

She was gone before the death rattle escaped her lungs.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ And so we come full circle...

I have to admit, this was a hard chapter to write, in getting the words to come out, but I also had a lot of fun with it when I got the momentum rolling. The mental image of Max from the game being out-smarted by a Chloe from the future actually prompted a little giggle from me as I was first writing it.

So one more official chapter left to go, and then that's that. I still need to write that alternate ending, and post it as a ninth chapter, but I'll get more into that next time.

I am continuing to heal. I managed to get through my first week back to work, and it was difficult but not nearly as bad as I was anticipating. I seem to have turned corner, and let me tell it, it is a massive relief. As well as a major wake up call. The stand/sit desk I bought with my Kofi money is making a huge difference.

Anyhow, have a nice rest of the weekend folks. If you're in the US, make sure to vote on Tuesday! And if you happen to live in Massachusetts, I kindly implore you to vote yes on all the state ballot questions, but at the very least, PLEASE vote Yes on Question 3...I'd really like to keep my civil rights intact.

Have a great day!


	8. Chapter 8

Consciousness would not be easily yielded from the great black mass of oblivion that held Chloe fast in its grip. Her cheek pressed against bathroom tile, long enough that the material was warm. Her body was not yet hers to command, but that suited Chloe fine.

She might have easily passed out again, were it not for the memories that were stirred up in her mind.

 _Hard….tile….bathroom. Bathroom...just like it was...back in Blackwell. Wait...is this the tile? Wait, wait...am I_ back _there again?!_

The resultant hypnagogic jolt was all it took to for her to rise up to her hands and knees in a brief but intense rush of adrenaline-fueled panic.

"Where am I! Where am…"

She fearfully looked about the bathroom. Details resolved themselves; the twisted, alien features, painted as they were by the blacks and blues of the dead of night, gave way to the dull but comforting familiarity of her own bathroom.

"Oh! Oh…..ohhhh. Home. Okay. I'm...just a dream...just…"

She paused, and realized her body was politely putting its own needs on hold while her mind caught up to the present moment; now, it was insistent. With a practiced calm, she clutched the toilet and allowed nature to take its course; first emptying out what was left in her stomach, then allowing the dry heaves to have their way with her.

 _This is...damn. It's really bad that I'm used to it, right? That I don't even feel so crappy anymore when I get blackout drunk, because it's not that far off from my usual state. Right?_

Shaky hands reached up towards the sink, and with slow, diligent effort, Chloe pulled herself up to her feet. Her lungs filled with cleansing breaths. A giddy laugh escaped her chest, as she started to recall the details of her most recent experience.

 _Wow. Hella weird. Even for a booze and weed fueled dream, that was soooooo fucked up! Thematic though. Makes sense. Time of the year, of course I'd be dreaming about Max, and what happened. Huh...did I dream that Frank Bowers gave me the power to go back and change history? Hah, I bet if I explained what I remembered to a psychiatrist, they'd have a fucking field day with the "metaphor" and "imagery." Jesus…_

Still, it would have been nice. If any of it had been real, if she actually lived in a world where those sorts of miracles and magic happened.

"But you don't," she sighed, eyes still closed as she regained her balance. "Always gonna be Chloe in Crappyland."

Her eyes opened and she caught her reflection in the mirror for the first time since waking up.

A good five seconds passed before she realized what was wrong.

"Shit!"

She desperately tried to yank off the necklace wrapped around her neck. Eventually she regained enough self-control to quickly lift it up and over her head, before tossing it away into the sink, as if it were a venomous snake.

She flipped the lightswitch on, convinced she must be mistaken.

But there it was...the impossible proof staring her in the face: a simple military-issue ball-chain necklace, threaded through the remains of three brass cartridge shells; crushed, as if by a pair of small yet incredibly powerful fingers.

"No," she breathed out, shaking her head. "No!" she repeated.

It couldn't be real. She had to be asleep, this _had_ to be a dream!

She felt foolish as she grabbed her toothbrush, and used the long, slender neck to lift up the necklace, before bringing it over for closer inspection.

She spent two solid minutes willing herself to wake up, two minutes demanding that life make sense; that it resolve the terrible, impossible paradox that placidly hung an inch from her eyes.

But there it was. Mocking her with it's mundanity. No crackle of power stung her fingers when she grabbed the necklace with her fingers. No soft whispering filled her head when she closed her fist around it. No strange or mystical vibrations emanated from the surface; it was only what it was.

A reminder of her failure.

Chloe was given not one, but three chances to make things right. And she failed each and every time.

She bowed her head, as one heart-wrenching sob after another tore free from her throat.

* * *

The gentle, golden smudge of false dawn licked at the eastern edges of the horizon. Chloe could appreciate its otherworldly power and meaning: the darkness driven away by the brilliant blaze of the pure white light, the promise of another day, fresh and new. Another chance, another hope, another roll of the dice. 'The Show' starts again, same as it always does, predictable in the unpredictability of what it offered.

Dawn in Vegas was the most terrible, beautiful thing she'd ever beheld.

And it would be the last sight she'd witness.

She stared down hard at the unlabeled bottle of oxycodone gripped tight in her hand; the funny part was that it wasn't hers. It belonged to Phaedra, and while Chloe didn't know the whole story - and knew well enough not to ask - it was apparently something offered in lieu of a cash payment from one of her roommate's clients.

She measured them out carefully in her hand - pausing for a moment to wonder at her own curious thoughtfulness, her desire to not steal more of the pills than she needed to get the job done.

Five should do. Right?

 _Ten. Better make it ten. Hell, down it with the bottles of MD 20/20 I just bought….that will definitely do it._

So this was it. The moment she always wondered about.

She was going to die.

Not all of her was on board with the notion, but how the fuck was she supposed to go on with her life?

"Seriously," she hissed at her self. "How do I keep on living? Universe probably wants me to fucking die anyhow, right? Gave me a chance, gave me _all_ the chances, that everyone else in the world would sell their fucking soul for. But not me...noooooo. Chloe gotta fuck it up, 'cause that's what Chloe is the best at. Fucking up everything she ever tried or does."

It was better this way. She spent the last five years putting off the inevitable. The death that was denied her, back in the girls bathroom at Blackwell.

 _Wrong girl died. I can see that now. Max, you should have lived._

She thought about sending a text, writing a letter. At the very least, she ought to let her Mom know why she was ending it. And the Caulfields. And kindly inform her boss that she wasn't going to be in, like, ever again. Oh, and she had some good suggestions for replacements.

 _And it would have been nice to see Jim one last time...and…_

No.

The last thing she needed to do was find excuses to keep on keeping on with this pathetic mockery of an existence. A mouthful of pills, a couple quick chugs, and it'd be over and done with. She'd watch the sun rise, and go to sleep.

And then?

 _Damn. Guess I'm probably in debt to Frank again, for whatever shit he had to pull to get me those wishes. Hah! Isn't that the best? Owed him money when I was alive, owe him favors once I'm dead._

There was no point in drawing the moment out.

She lifted her hand up, opened her mouth, and tilted her head back.

 _Live…_

A soft breeze sighed across the open desert, driven by the swiftly warming temperatures of the dawn.

Chloe paused instinctively.

"Max?"

She held her breath, waiting for a response. Then chided herself for being foolish.

 _Just hearing shit._

She tried again.

 _Live! Chloe..._

The same there-but-not voice. Heard, but unheard.

She didn't even make a third attempt.

Something deep inside snapped.

A great, primal rage bubbled up, pouring out of every mental wound and scar that festooned her mind. She threw the pills down in an angry fit, and screamed out, "Why!? _Why!?_ What's the point? What's the fucking point of it all, Max?! Huh! God damnit, why did you do it?!"

She was screaming out from her balcony, high enough so that her fury-drenched words would barely be conveyed to the street below.

"Who takes a bullet like that?! Who acts calm when you're shot to death!? I would have been freaking out! I would have been begging not to die on that fucking dirty floor, but you...you just…..you!"

Chloe sank to her knees in despair, and sobbed, "I wasn't worth it, Max. Why would you waste your life on me? After five years. You never fucking visited me, you never called, so why would you throw it all away for…"

And then she understood.

It was a subtle yet subtly profound shift. One second, she was trapped in the dark of ignorance; the next, a light of realization flooded through every corner of her mind. That final, crucial piece of the puzzle snapped into place. The flap of the butterfly's wings that started the avalanche.

Maybe it was a stretch. Maybe Chloe was only seeing what she desperately needed to, deluding herself because the stark, impersonal randomness of a cold and uncaring Universe was more than she could bear.

But she realized, down to the very core of her being, what the answer she was missing all this time was. What her 'dream' revealed to her.

Max saved her...sacrificed herself...because she loved her.

 _Like….in fucking love…_

It made sense now! At long last!

 _Max had powers...time powers. I don't know how she got them, but...but in a couple of those timelines she had the ability to go back and like...I don't know...rewind shit? But Reality didn't want to take the hit, it kept coming for her….the tornado! And didn't she say there was a tornado, that destroyed Arcadia Bay?! All because of her, all because she wouldn't let me….me_ and _Rachel die?!_

Well, Rachel was dead in this timeline, but Chloe herself was still very much alive.

 _Wouldn't be, if Nathan had his way. Asshole was totally gonna shoot me…_

And there it was. Clear as day, obvious as the nose on her face.

 _In_ this _timeline, the one I'm standing, right here, right now, Max must've had powers in this universe too! What if she got them saving me from Nathan, just like she got them before, saving me and Rachel from the train!? Rachel was already dead, so I guess the Universe was happy there, but me….I was alive. And fuck, I guess I shouldn't have been!_

She looked down at the scattered pills on the balcony tile, unable to believe how close she'd come to finishing the job.

 _What if Max and I spent time together? What if there's a timeline where she and I were friends again, after that? What if the same shit happened again, and she was forced to choose between me and Arcadia Bay? And….and fuck! Yeah! Shit, I told her….the very last thing I told her was if she ever had to choose, to let me die. Oh Jesus, what if the Max I saw in 2008, was the same one who died in the bathroom five years ago?!_

Chloe slumped hard into one of the nearby deck chairs, as the enormity of what was blossoming in her brain hit her in full.

 _It must have happened...it musta gotten bad! I don't know how, I don't know when, but same as the second attempt I made to change the past, probably a tornado or something like it, forcing Max to either take it all back, and let me die...or it was gonna take the town as payment._

It must have been a terrible choice. One life for many, but the one life was so loved. Chloe could only imagine how much time she and Max might have spent together in this hypothetical timeline she was constructing in her head, the one the materialized after Max somehow saved her from Nathan.

 _And then there was that other timeline, where I was crippled...shit. How the fuck am I even remembering it? And did I really beg Max to kill me? And I told her that...I loved her._

But of course she did.

Because that was the God-honest truth, wasn't it?

Chloe Price was in love with Max Caulfield. She understood this now. And she had been since they were kids. She immediately integrated these facts and accepted them as Sacred Truth.

And somewhere along the line, Max fell in love with her.

Or maybe she was always in love. Maybe that's why she never kept in touch, she was too confused, and hurt, and guilty, and embarrassed...

But that all changed. In the face of a terrible yes/no, black/white, good/bad dichotomy, Max broke through, and came to the conclusion that there was another way. That Three was infinitely more powerful than Two.

Maybe she always intended to die. Maybe not. But Max ultimately traded her own life for Chloe's.

Obviously, the Universe accepted the bargain.

The sun was fully perched on the horizon now. Dawn was here at last.

"Oh God...oh….Max."

 _Live…_

No wonder those were her last words. Max was trying to tell her what her life bought.

Continued existence for Chloe.

She looked down at the bottles of brightly colored cheap wine, scattered near her feet.

She bowed her head in shame, and covered her face with a hand.

She wept. She laughed. She didn't know where sadness began, and joy ended.

"Five…..five years," she sobbed between laughs. "Five years. Leave it to me to miss the fucking point!"

And to think what she almost threw away tonight. More to the point, how she was continuously throwing her life away, on a slow, self-destructive spiral towards inevitable oblivion. Maybe Chloe screwed up, and wasted three good chances to make her life and her world better. But then again, maybe this was the whole damn point: enlightenment.

Rising up to her feet, she walked over towards the rail, gripping it tightly. She stared straight towards the sun, narrowed eyes filling with liquid gold.

She'd wasted so much time already.

But that was okay.

Because suddenly, she found herself with all the time in the world.

All the time to live.

* * *

Chloe spent the remainder of her vacation week putting her life back on track. There were AA meetings to look into, and doctor's appointments to make; she quickly embraced the insight that her alcoholism was as much a physical ailment that required proper medical treatment as she slowly dried out, as it was a mental one. Like it or not, she had a hard road ahead, confronting and processing the life issues that drove her into the bottle in the first place.

But things were good now, or at least heading in the right direction.

Phaedra even forgave her for stealing her booze and trashing a bunch of her pills.

" _I'm just happy you're finally getting your shit together, Chloe. I know I'm not around much, but that doesn't mean I don't care about what you were doing to yourself. Didn't feel it was my place to say anything. Not yet."_

On the last day of her vacation, she spent time in Container Park; it never failed to strike her as odd, that her place of employment was nestled in the back of a place she actually enjoyed spending her off hours at. But a cup of strong, black coffee was perking her up, and she aimed to tell Jim that while she planned to keep patronizing his bar, he and his staff were, under no circumstances, allowed to serve her booze.

She was dismayed to find the door to Doctor Dunsel's locked; on a nice, sunny weekend day in October, there was no real reason for it. She quickly spotted the sign off to the side.

 _ **CLOSED FOR THE NEXT WEEK.**_

 _Huh. Jim take a vacation too? Never has before, but maybe he was saving up…_

As Chloe turned to depart, an older African-American woman walked up from the inside and unlocked the door. She looked familiar, but the blunette couldn't put her finger on why.

"Sorry, we're closed but…," the older woman broke into a soft, sad smile. "You look just like he described you. You must be Chloe, right?"

"Y-yeah. Hi. Um...everything okay?"

The other woman clenched her jaw and squinted her eyes slightly; Chloe could see the answer in them immediately. She was too familiar with death and loss to miss it.

"Oh my God. When…"

"Three days ago. Heart attack. It was sudden. It didn't kill him, not right away, and we hoped he'd pull through." She sighed hard, and half-smiled with pained resignation, "But he didn't survive the night."

Then Chloe put it together.

"You're Fay. His sister right? Wow, you look just like him."

Fay nodded once.

"Shit. Wow, uh...fuck. I'm sorry. So, so sorry to meet like this."

Chloe allowed Fay to take her hands, as the other woman said, "It is. But I'm glad we're finally meeting, no matter what the reason."

"Heh...he - uh - yeah. He talked about you. I mean...he really loved you. Honestly, what little I knew about his past, seemed like you were the only family he actually cared about."

Fay laughed lightly. "Yeah. Jim and I, we really only had each other, growing up. I mean, it wasn't fucking sunshine and lollipops but it wasn't as bad as all that either, not all the time. Still…." she exhaled, long and slow, before continuing. "I'm happy we had time to talk. And say goodbye."

An anxious tension built up in the back of Chloe's mind. She breathed in deeply and let it out. She didn't want to make it about her, didn't want to look too deeply into a random tragedy, but the wounds of time still ached in her heart. It was difficult not to jump to the conclusion that once again, someone got too close to her...and someone died because of it.

 _That isn't true, Chloe. Maybe once upon a time, maybe you_ were _cursed, but Max saved you. Saved you from all of that. Everything's been great since then, even if you couldn't appreciate it. Life is still going to happen, even as you're getting your act together._

She felt a squeeze on her fingers as Fay said, "Near the end, Jim was worried he wasn't going to make it, and I guess he was right. He gave me a few names. People he was - ah - concerned about. 'Favored Patrons' was what he called them. You, for instance. Especially after the last time you were here."

Chloe bit her lip and nodded, "Yeah. Hate to say it, but he wasn't wrong. I've been going through some shit a long time now. October, makes it all fall apart, and year by year, it was getting worse. But I'm getting through it now. At last. It's why I came, I was gonna tell him that; well, and no more rocket fuel for me anymore."

Fay laughed low, and then suddenly pulled Chloe into a hug. "Good. Good for you. I can see it. I like to think I get a sense of someone right away, and I can see it in you: bloodied but unbowed. Good for you. Jim'll be happy with all of that, wherever he is now."

Chloe swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, and hugged back. "Y-yeah. Too bad, I never got a chance to tell him. And I guess I'm losing my favorite hangout bar?"

Fay shook her head as she pulled back, "We'll be closed for a few more days while we all grieve, the staff and I. And as I go through the books and get up to speed. I actually owned half of the place; didn't help run it, seeing as I live up in Reno, but...I think it would break Jim's heart if the Double-D closed down. So I'll keep it open for a while; maybe sometimes, I can make myself think I'm keeping the place going until he comes back from...wherever.

Chloe reached up to dab at her wet eyes. She cleared her tight throat and murmured, "Sounds good. So hey...Jim was kinda cool, yeah? Let me know if there's anything I can do to help you out, alright?"

Fay reached up, and patted her on the cheek. "Yeah. You can come back, when we reopen. And keep coming around, let me know you're continuing to get through whatever it is you're pulling yourself up from, alright?"

"Ye-yeah. I can do that."

"Good! I figure, near the end of the month, we'll hold a little memorial. Private party, just us and some other of the regulars, and a few of Jim's other friends."

"You bet. That would be really nice."

They said their goodbyes and parted company. Chloe walked away in a soft daze, climbing up to the top floor and glancing out over the Arts district. She took a long, hard pull of her coffee and sat in solitude for over an hour, quietly grieving by herself.

 _Shit. I almost threw it away, all of it. But Max told me to live. She didn't promise me that it was going to be fucking orgasms and ice cream, but yeah...this is still…_

"I'm alive," she whispered to herself.

And as long as she was around, Max, and Rachel, Jim, and her father?

They were still around as well, in their own way.

* * *

"Strewth! No more drinking. For serious, now?"

"Yup," Chloe answered as she worked on adding additional details to Dirk's latest tattoo.

"Really?"

"Bitch, did I stutter?" she asked, grinning at him.

"I...dunno. Doesn't seem right. I mean, good on ya, sheila, don't let me be a bad influence but...shit, gonna miss pounding them down with you on party night."

"Well, look at it this way: you lost a drinking buddy, but you gained a designated driver."

"Oi! That's right. Yeah, that'll save me a penny on cab rides now, won't it?"

The first Monday back to work passed pleasantly for her. Everything and nothing changed; Chloe was still the same, and yet she was an entirely different person. No one said much about it, but they could tell.

"The weight's off your shoulders," was all Roy remarked, when she took a break for lunch. "It's a good look on you."

Chloe walked down the stairs and sighed. She pulled out her phone, and started working on the same text she'd failed to send eighty-three times in a row.

 _hey, steph. just wanna say sorry…_

Chloe nearly bumped into someone. Whipping her head up to apologize, she found herself face to face with the subject in question.

"Wow, playing something good?" Steph said with a smirk.

To her credit, Chloe managed to wipe off the 'deer caught in the headlights' expression from her face, but not nearly as quick as she would have liked. She cleared her throat, and said in a lackadaisical fashion, "I was engrossed in writing you a heartfelt apology, if you must know."

"Oh sure. I believe you," Steph said, crossing her arms and feigning indignation.

Chloe lifted up the phone, and held it close to the other woman's face, "See. Seeeeeeee." She teased.

"Okay, okay. Maybe I didn't believe you all the way. Jeez. Wait, how did you get my cell number?"

"Your Mom," Chloe answered, playfully invoking the same interchange from the last evening they saw each other.

They both started laughing.

"Buut….um...well here you are. Wait...why are you here?" Chloe tried to ignore the strange flutter in her stomach as she waited for the answer.

Crossing her arms, Steph said, "What, you think this is something to do with you? A girl can't randomly decide to go native and get a tramp stamp? Word is this is the place to go, if you're Downtown."

"Huh. I wonder what that would look like? 'Paladin on the streets, Succubus in the sheets?'"

"Wow. Nerrrrrrd. And this is _me_ saying it."

"It's 2018. Everyone knows about your shameful geek stuff now, so it's okay."

They laughed again, and Chloe finally got to the point. "Hey, but look. Um...I'm _am_ sorry, though. At what happened last week." She laughed nervously and reached up to rub the back of her neck. "You caught me off guard...and...I'm not….I wasn't in a good place mentally….and…"

"Damn, yeah, hey...look. It's alright. It's all on me, Chloe," Steph said, holding up her hands to interrupt. "I just, y'know, I made some assumptions, and I got kinda…" she sucked air through her teeth, and continued, "...got carried away in the moment. I suppose we could blame the booze. But if I haven't made things too weird, we could always forget about it, and start over. Friends?"

Chloe sighed, smiled, and said, "No, no...it's more complicated than that. There is so much I wish I could tell you and make it fit in thirty seconds. A lot of it boils down to it being a bad ten years, you know? First, with my Dad, and then with Max and Rachel. Honestly? I've been fucked up, and there's no way that I would be good dating material, for all sorts of reasons. I-I mean...a week ago, that was true. Shit, it's probably still true now, but for different reasons. Because...because I think I'm finally breaking through, and getting past so much shit in so little time, even though I've got a lot of work to do, and aaaaahhh…!"

She groaned in frustration and reached up to pull at her hair as she watched Steph's expression grow increasingly confused. Taking the other woman's hands in her own she said, "Let me try this one more time: , I would love to get dinner, or drinks, or something like that. And yes, I would love to show you more of Vegas. The cool stuff, and by that, I mean the shit only the locals have a clue about, because God fucking knows we need to get away from all the the tourists. But you hafta know that I'm a hot, recovering alcoholic mess right now. I'm gonna have some bad days ahead of me, but I'm finally moving towards a good place. So, I'm a bit of a risk, you know? As dating material? But it's Vegas, so - uh - thematically appropriate?"

Steph shook her head and gave a snort; her smile was wide, regardless.

"Dating material? Damn, getting ahead of yourself, aren't you? What makes you think I was asking you out on a date-date?"

Chloe took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly.

" _Live Chloe….just….live."_

Slowly, she opened them, gave Steph her winningest smile, and said, "Bitch, please. Of course you were asking for a date-date. I'm Chloe Fucking Price."

Four weeks later, they finally found themselves in a position to rearrange that particular word combination.

* * *

 **ONE YEAR LATER**

Chloe kneeled down on one leg, hand reaching out tenderly to grip the headstone before her.

 _Max Siobhan Caulfield_

 _September 21st, 1995 - October 7th 2013_

" _Death is nothing at all/It does not count_

 _I have only slipped away into the next room"_

"Sorry for not coming back sooner," Chloe said. "But I wanted to let you know that everything is okay. Actually, everything is pretty fucking awesome. Crazy year, hella eventful. But good, good shit mostly. And the bad shit? Was all stuff that happens when you're trying to be a better person, so it's in service to the good."

She reached into her jacket pocket and lovingly extracted the necklace. She draped it over the top, the ruined shells making little tinkling noises as they struck the granite.

Bowing her head, Chloe wiped at her moist eyes and continued whispering, "Couldn't have done it without you, Max. I want you to know that. You saved me, literally saved me, and it cost you. I still don't understand what happened, y'know? Not all of it. But I know you must have had a hand it it, somehow, even though you're dead. You must have realized how bad it was getting, how much I was in the dark, and you...did, whatever it took, to get me to see the truth of it all. To understand."

She bit her lip, and took a long breath.

"I have no idea what it cost you to pull it off. Maybe a lot. Maybe nothing. Maybe it wasn't you, maybe it really was all Frank, or something that looked like him. Shit, even with the necklace, part of me is still convinced it was nothing more than weed and booze, but I can't believe that it wasn't real, either. There's shit you see, and it's so real, and it's so true, and nothing in the world will make you think otherwise. I don't know what made us so special - why you got time powers, why you somehow...gave them to me? Is that what happened? I don't know. Shit, maybe this sort of thing happens to people all the fucking time, but we're too scared to talk about it, because no one will believe us. Or maybe I'm the only person in the world it's ever happened to. Either way? Thank you."

She stroked the headstone tenderly, tracing her fingertips across the debossed carvings.

"We loved each other. I see that. It's obvious. All the way back, ever since we were kids. We were _in_ love, and we were too young, and too scared to know what to do, what to say. And if you hung around? We would have figured it out. I know it. I - uh." Chloe brushed away the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Hey, there's a lot of different timelines, right? If what I saw is true. Like, parallel dimensions. I hope so. I want to believe there's a billion worlds out there, where you can I get it together. Where we figure out what we mean to each other. And we get married, and maybe even have kids, and ...all that happily ever after crap. But this isn't one of those dimensions. You died, but it was an act of love. I wish I could know what we did, what I said, how we got to that point - in barely a week. That timeline you had to take back, before you you saved me in the bathroom."

She smiled brightly at all the different stories that her imagination painted, trying to figure the answer out.

"I'm happy for them, the versions of us that got together. Hella epic love for the ages, no doubt. And I know you'd want me to be happy now, here, in this place and time. So this is me telling you: I'm happy. I'm really fucking happy. I've got a good life going. And it's gonna get better. All because of you. Thank you. Thank you for everything. Wish you were here. My partner in time."

Chloe leaned in, and placed a soft, heartfelt kiss over Max's name.

"I'll keep stopping by, and let you know how it's going. Even though I got a feeling you're going to keep watching over me. My angel. My own personal guardian angel."

Another minute passed, before Chloe was able to tear herself away from her friend's grave. Slowly, she rose to her feet and walked towards the exit, but not before meeting Steph; the other woman had been standing respectfully off to the side, giving Chloe her privacy.

They embraced, and shared a firm, deep kiss.

"Thanks for waiting, baby."

"Of course. I know how important this is to you. Besides, it gave me time to hang out with Rachel. Rose came by actually, she saw us from the side of the road as she was driving past.

"Oh?" Chloe asked, looking around.

"Yeah, she didn't want to bother you, so she left a few minutes ago. I hope you don't mind, but I extended an invitation to her and James. For the dinner tonight, with our parents. Already called the restaurant, they said they can easily fit in two more people."

Chloe snorted with bemusement and shook her head.

"What?" Steph asked with a grin.

"You're so good at your job, is all, with the planning and organizing. And hell no I don't mind. The Caulfields are gonna be there too. Guess that's the funny thing about tragedy, has a way of linking people together sometimes. Like one big family."

They laced their fingers together and started to walk towards the car.

Chloe traced her finger over the silver Claddagh ring on Steph's finger, its twin wrapped around the finger on her other hand.

"Hey, so….we're not tellin'em we're already married, right?"

Chloe laughed, "Noooo. They don't need to know about the quickie wedding. Seriously though, how often do you get the chance to have Hayley Kyoko officiate it, huh? Jesus Christ, we _had_ to do it. They would have revoked our lesbian membership cards if we took a pass."

"Hee. Fuck yeah. Fringe benefit of the job."

"Damn right. Gotta love Vegas. So no, no. They don't need to know about us. Let'em think our little fairy-tale wedding we're planning in Arcadia Bay will be the first one. I mean, shit, if it were up to me, we'd get married every day."

Steph turned and asked, "That'd get expensive, not to mention exhausting. You haven't seen me at my worst, I think I'm gonna be a total bridezilla."

"Yeah, but think of all the goodies we'd keep raking in."

"Donnnn't think it works that way, cutie."

"Shit. Probably right."

Chloe turned her head and caught one last glance towards Max's grave.

 _I'm living, Max, I promise you. I'm living for us both. Hell, for all of us who weren't lucky enough to make it this far._

With that, Chloe turned and walked off towards the rest of her life.

* * *

 **EPILOGUE**

 _Frank hums along tunelessly as he drives his RV towards the streaming light of the eternal dawn._

" _Life is...a highway….ride it….all night long…"_

" _Bark!"_

 _Glancing towards his canine companion, he muses, "Yeah? Well, I knew it was gonna work from the moment we took the job."_

" _Bark. Bark bark!"_

" _Hah! Okay, fine, sure, you got me, buddy. But all's well that ends well, right? And shit, this is gonna end really well. Our day is here! Our ship's come in! All that happy bullshit that happens to other people. Except this time? It's you and me. We got the fucking brass ring. So let's just bask for a moment in our victory."_

" _Bark?"_

" _I don't know. I'm not gonna ask. Sure, you think with the kind of pull they were showing, they could have gotten a better lift from someone else, but I ain't gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. One last good deed, before we go and we take our bow."_

 _A young woman steps out from the rear of the vehicle. Frank never got the name; he and Pompidou have taken to calling her Our Esteemed Benefactor, ever since she hired them both for what seemed like easy pay for easy work, She wanted him to help her contact an old...well, not exactly friend, but Frank always liked Chloe, as annoying a bitch as she could be sometimes. He'd had to do a lot of shitty things to keep going, both when he was alive and...afterwards.._

 _It was clean work, for a good cause. Well, putting aside the lies by omission, of course._

 _But she always kept her face covered by the hood of her ragged, brown canvas robe; he understood why people might want to conceal themselves, out in this part of the Universe, so he didn't question it. She'd been good to her word in all of their dealings up to this point._

 _He's shocked when unexpectedly, she throws the hood back, and loosens the robe about her. A pink t-shirt with a picture of a deer peeks through._

" _Wait. I...I think I know you," Frank says, frowning as he squints his eye. "Yeah….yeeeeeah. Wait a fucking second. You were the friend! You were….the kid with the powers. What the fuck? I mean, I didn't know you personally, but I saw what was going down. Shit, I shoulda guess it sooner. No wonder you told us not to worry, after the kid's second attempt! Jesus fuck."_

 _Max gives little more than a sad smile, but says nothing. She ignores the questions, as she reaches down and pulls out a small leather bag clipped to her belt. As she opens it, a pure, white light shines from within: it is warmth and comfort and joy and relief. She closes it, then places the bag in his hand._

" _As promised," she states, her voice rough, old. Far more years than her appearance belies. "This'll get you to the Pure Lands. Just keep driving 'til you see the exit ramp, right next to Mount Lu. Can't miss it."_

 _Frank's heart would be pounding, if he still had one. Even so, there is a feeling of excitement, a surge of anticipation, as he takes a peek in the bag._

 _The token is there. Enough power for the both of them to pass on through._

" _Remember, you can still fuck this up. It's not Nirvana, but both of you get a better chance now. An easier starting place. A kinder rebirth. You still have some karma to work through, but life'll be a lot gentler, next go around."_

 _Frank shakes his head, flabbergast. He looks over at his dearest friend, sitting in the other seat, and reaches over to scratch him behind the ears. Rebirth, and in the motherfucking Pure Lands at that! There'd actually be fucking tears in his eyes, if he could cry._

 _And they'd go together, they way they were meant to._

" _Shit, I gotta ask. Probably gonna regret it...but why us? These tokens don't grow on trees. And not just anyone can hand them out, either. You got have some pull. So why did you need my help? Doesn't make sense,_ you _were her best friend. Why didn't you go talk to her yourself? Why all the playing around and hiding?"_

 _Max smiles patiently. She reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, and gives Pompidou a similar gesture of affection._

" _Oh Frank. People like us, we've been playing The Game for how long? You know better than to question The Rules. We're all bound by our karmic limitations and penances. Besides, believe it or not, she was far more receptive to learning the lesson through you than she would be through me. Directly, that is. You...provided the appropriate distance, so that she could see the forest from the trees. Anyhow, drop me off here?"_

 _Frank pauses, looking out towards the window. There's a lonely, beat-up diner coming up, on the right-hand side. It looks familiar, but shit. After a while, they all look the same. He doesn't plan to stay any longer than it takes to let the other woman out._

 _She starts to walk down the stairs, then opens the door. In a rare pique of compassion, he rises up halfway and calls out, with a surprisingly gentle voice, "Wait! Hey….hey….kid. Uh. Y'know. Why don't you come with us? I mean, y'gotta have one more for yourself, right? You could just skip whatever this is, and we'll drive off together."_

 _She turns and looks towards him, genuinely touched by his concern. She shakes her head with resignation and says, "Thank you. Someday. But right now? I got a lot more karma of my own to work through. I've still...gotta earn it."_

" _Damn. Seriously? How much karma could that possibly be?"_

 _She turns and answers, though he barely hears her as she walks out of the RV._

"' _Bout a whole town's worth."_

 _She closes the door, as Frank and Pompidou drive off to their reward. She tightens the robe around her, and pulls the hood back up. The parking lot of the diner that she walks through has seen better days; the asphalt is pitted, even cratered with potholes in many places. The exterior is rusty and corroded, yet stands against the inexorable grind of the Eternal, just like so many others of its ilk. A faint, dying light inside promises sanctuary, but the few stragglers gathered around various fires, desperate for warmth, can't seem to figure out how to get past the door._

 _Even after she opens it and walks inside, they still struggle in their ignorance._

 _She spots him immediately; he's even more haggard than the last version, eyes darkly rimmed, the glowing cherry of a cigarette between his lips burning down towards the end. It's Frank, but he's got red hair this time. The dog's there too, but her name is Laika, and she's a Doberman mutt._

 _Max slides into the booth without asking. Frank glances over, pursing his bean-stained lips._

" _And who the hell are you?"_

" _A benefactor," Max answers. "I have a job for you. And payment that'll make it worth the while."_

 _She can see it in his eyes; he's going to say yes. The dog, too. They all say yes in the end. They see her for who she is. An Operator Among Operators. Someone who can get things done like no other._

" _Oh yeah? And what the hell could that possibly be?"_

 _She smiles, knowing that it's the only part of her face he can make out._

" _The same thing I offer all the others. A fighting chance."_

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** Wow, so here we are.

Hard to believe it's over and done with. And in relatively short order, from what I was suspecting. barely a year ago I was reaching out to Tom and asking him if he would please help me brainstorm this "ideal I've got stuck in my head" and beta read the story that came from those sessions. So thank you so much to him, and thanks so much to **Leosch** for the amazing work he did proofing everything. I actually learned a fair deal about grammar from him!

And thank you to all the fans, especially the ones who have been around for years, and continue to be around for years. Including and especially **Theodur** , whom I have known literally since my first day on his site over five-and-a-half years ago, and who has always been so generous and wonderful with his support. He writes too, so I say ya'll should go check his stuff out!

Clever readers will note I have not hit the complete button on this yet. That's because another good friend and faithful fan, **LonesomeBard** , gave me the inspiration for a really nifty alternate ending. One that doesn't quite fit with the theme of the story, but one that I think Pricefield fans, and fans who believe that Chloe should have had a chance to "make life better" literally, as opposed to simply coming to peace with the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, will probably like a lot. I just need to recover a little more, and get a little more time, and I'll do that thing!

So Jim dies at the end. I am sad to say that this was not planned for. You see, there's a real life Jim, and a real life Fay. And Jim was a friend who I'd known for years, but only just started to really bond with this year, after he supported me coming out. What started off as a way to honor his amazing existence as "Doctor Dunsel" instead turned into a memorial; as I was starting to write the draft for Chapter 7 in July, he died suddenly. The last time I saw him was in May, when we were driving to a party con on the Cape, and while he enjoyed himself, he kept complaining about an illness he couldn't quite shake. Two weeks later, we find out that there's a lot of cancerous mass in his lungs, and three weeks after that, he's dead from soft tissue sarcoma. At least he went quick, and in not much pain. One of the few good things that came out of that tragedy was meeting his sister at the wake, who is as amazing a person as he is. Anyhow...thanks Jim. I hope you're giving God shit, and getting all the angels drunk on rocket fuel.

I hope you all enjoyed this; I have to admit from a craft and technical perspective, I'm pretty proud of this one. It's nice to look back at my work over the past half decade an see how my style and technique have improved. It's not over-exaggeration to say that fan-fiction, and Life is Strange, have been a combination that completely changed the course of my life.

Have a wonderful rest of the weekend folks. Be excellent to each other, because you never know what the next day will bring.

-Lyta


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